


Domino

by sleepingseeker



Series: 2k14 LeonardoxKarai [1]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014)
Genre: 2k14 tmnt, Drama, F/M, Leorai - Freeform, Romance, TMNT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2142966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepingseeker/pseuds/sleepingseeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo and Donnie go back to retrieve the remaining canisters of their blood. Donnie has Leo search for more, who he finds instead changes his life's path, forever. He just doesn't know it yet. (8-21-2014 Now a multi-chapter because, you know, I can't leave these two alone)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone who follows my stuff on ff.net knows - it was only a matter of time. I adore this ship.

Donatello, tongue poking slightly out from the corner of his mouth, unscrewed the glass canister. Fingers moving around and over it swiftly and gently.

"Come to poppa," Donnie mumbled. He twisted and set it carefully into the large duffle where two more sat.

Leo stood up from where he crouched, watching his brother disconnect the remaining vats of their collected blood. He ran a hand over his left bicep. A bruise was forming where one of the few lingering Foot soldiers had gotten in a hit with a metal bo staff. There weren't many when Don and he had arrived, and they'd made short work of the men. The rest of the compound remained empty and still. Eerie.

He turned his arm over and grimaced at the still-unhealed puncture wounds from where Sacks had injected the tubing to collect his blood. It was a mild concern, that he and his brothers had still not quite healed, but it was the least of his worries at the moment. He wanted to get what they had to and get out of here. Just being in the lab where he and his brothers had been tormented, treated like animals and stared at like circus freaks made his skin crawl.

Donnie looked up, "Uh Leo? You may want to also check the grounds, you know, in case they had any in the vehicles."

Leonardo nodded, mulled it over. "Is that even a possibility, though?"

Donnie shrugged. "We have to be meticulous, brother. If there's any evidence, no matter how miniscule, we need to dispose of it. Besides I can store this in case one of us ever need a transfusion."

"Okay," Leo turned. "Call Raph and Mikey. Let them know we'll be at least another hour. I'll go scout around."

He jogged down the long corridors, footsteps echoing as he made his way to the docking doors leading from the garage in the compound to the outside. The blast of frigid air made him falter. He turned and made his way to the van, pulled open the side door, and retrieved a long black coat. Shivering he threw it on. It helped, but not much. Winter was not a pleasant time for him or his brothers, and being out in the cold temperatures not only made him feel clumsy and muddle-headed, it slowed him down. Still, determined to follow through on Donatello's concerns, he began scouring the area for any evidence of more containers. Night was falling, making the drifts of snow stand out stark and bright. The swirling patterns of flakes illuminated in the twilight.

His feet moved through the trail the vehicles had left, though the tracks were quickly filling in with a light snow, heavy once it started to accumulate. He brushed off his shoulder, pulled up the collar of the coat and shuffled down a ridge. He stopped and braced one foot onto a boulder sticking up from the rocky ground. He leaned over his thigh. His eyes scanned the slope for any traces of canisters. A few yards down a piece of metal protruded from between two straggly trees.

He worked his way down, skipping and sliding part of the way from the steep incline. Snow bunched and rolled in mini avalanches around his boot-clad feet. He crouched and brushed snow away from the object; nothing. Part of one of the electrical harpoons they had used on him. He suppressed a shudder with the memory of the pain that coursed through his body. The agony it caused. Enough to make him black out. One hand rubbed the still tender area in his upper chest where he'd been shot, twice.

His face shot up as the wind brought a sound that was not the creaking of bare branches. He stilled, listening hard. Tilted his head. There. Again. Sounded like a voice, a moan. Someone in trouble.

He stood up, debating whether or not to leave it. It could be one of the men. Should he just go? The wind buffeted against him, billowing out the ends of his coat, causing the soft flakes to bite and sting at his face and neck. He pulled his coat around him tighter and for reasons he didn't understand, decided to investigate the source of the sound.

Further down the ridge, Foot vehicles remained where they'd left them; overturned, busted and dented. Steadily gathering snow, icicles clung from shattered rear-view mirrors. They glinted in the darkening twilight. A yellow hummer caught the corner of his eye and what he thought was something moving. He tensed.

The moan came again. It originated from that particular vehicle. He inched his way around the back of the wreck. He peered through the cracked glass, searching. He made out a hand, streaked in blood, fingers reaching and tightening around a strap hanging from the ceiling. Someone was trapped inside. Though a large part of his brain told him to just leave the soldier to his fate, Leonardo couldn't bring himself to be so heartless. He could at least pry open a door so the person inside could manage to escape, then they could get themselves up to the compound and call for help. While and he his brother would be long gone with what they'd come there to retrieve.

Glancing around and finding himself still alone in the forest, he moved to the side and climbed up to brace his feet atop the wrecked vehicle. The body of it rocked and groaned with his weight. Taking hold of the handle, yanked it with a grunt. The vehicle lurched and fell back. He swayed to one side, nearly falling off as his boot slid against the uneven surface, but steadied himself.

Inside, he heard a soft cry of distress. The soldier was female, he realized with a start. Not that he should be surprised, but Leonardo hadn't really thought about the fact that some of the soldiers they had fought were possibly women. He swallowed, feeling unsettled at the thought. Disturbed. The need to assist the person trapped renewed in a much stronger urge. He pulled again and this time the door wrenched free, slamming against the damaged side. Bits of glass sprinkled over the side. Leonardo, jumped back and off, shuffling his feet through the building snow, fists balled and ready for a fight; then when no one emerged, he crept back.

Peeking slowly over the edge, his eyes adjusted to the dark interior just as they met and locked on a pair of luminous green eyes gazing back into his. His mouth went dry. His heart stumbled. He coughed and collected himself. The woman had black hair with deep pink highlights, and her uniform was Foot. Recognition flared. She was the one that had shot him a second time when he'd gone to pull April and Vern from the cab of the truck. He'd only gotten a glimpse before his senses were rocked with the agony of the wire penetrating him and shooting him through with bolts of electric agony. Everything inside him screamed to retreat and get away from here as fast as possible. But a trail of thick blood worked its molasses-slow trek down the side of her pale cheek. Ice crystals laced the tips of her lashes.

"You're hurt," he said gruffly.

The woman merely blinked at him, oval face blank; eyes deep and watchful. Full of distrust and wariness. A gleam of something else; most likely, fear. She probably thought he was there to finish her off. His fingers gripped the sides of the doorway tightly. He ducked his head, but offered her no reassurances. Her body was twisted and bent at an awkward angle. He noted her trembling and wondered if it was fear of him or the cold that made her shake. Something inside him pulled tautly. His throat worked as he swallowed again. He could not leave, not now. He huffed and hesitantly, then with resolve, reached down. Her hand shot up, gripping his in a surprisingly tight hold. He froze.

"I am tangled in the seat belt. My leg is broken." She spoke with an accented voice, wavering slightly from the pain.

She released his arm. Without a word, he reached back and took a tanto from his belt. He lifted it so she could see and she eyed the blade with a blank expression. Was she afraid? If she was, she showed none of it on her face, despite her suffering. Leo couldn't help but be impressed. He positioned himself to lean further into the cramped space. Her free hand tentatively rested on the rim of his shell and shoulder. He felt her icy fingertips through the coat. Did his best to ignore the tingling that accompanied it. Chalked it up to a reaction from the cold of her skin. His head was but a few inches from her face and he glanced sideways at her. She returned his gaze and remained impassive and withdrawn. Watching him with a steady, determined expression. He wondered at her control. She'd been trapped here, in pain, for forty-eight hours; no idea of when and how rescue might come; discovered by one of the men she'd been ordered to capture and kill; but showed no sign of fright. No cowardice. It was impressive, to say the least.

His fingers traveled down, from the mangled interior behind her; finding where her opposite arm had tangled and been pinned behind and beneath her. He had to work the edge of the blade carefully so as not to cut into her. He felt her breath, hot and soft, ghosting across the back of his neck, felt his skin prickle and warm. Leo refocused, setting his jaw in a determined expression. The tip of the tanto slipped under the thick belt and Leo moved his wrist in a tiny up and down motion. The vehicle suddenly shifted from his weight and the awkward angle he was positioned in.

He lurched forward, into her, unable to halt his progression. His face smashed into her chest, his shoulders jammed into her. He felt her tense. Her shivering body going rigid and shuddering with pain. But she made no sound aside from a sharp inhale. He could smell the copper notes of her blood, the salty-sweet scent of her sweat, as well as the underlying notes of something more feminine; cherry blossoms. His throat closed.

"I-I'm sorry, ma'am" he said in a rushed hoarse voice, propping his hand against the side of her seat and doing his best to get his bulk off her. In a swift motion, he cut the strap as he retreated back, bracing his hips better so that he wouldn't crush her a second time if the vehicle shifted.

She quaked and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her eyes were narrowed and glassy. "Don't call me that again," she ground out between clenched teeth.

Leo blinked, gave an abrupt nod. "I'm going to lift you out of the vehicle," Leo explained slowly, his eyes locked on hers. She nodded brokenly. "It may hurt. Hold on to me."

Her hands shook badly as she reached up and took hold of his shoulders, her icy fingertips digging in and pinching the fabric into her fists. Leo eased his hands up under her armpits and started to drag her up and out. Her arms went around his neck as she pressed her face into his chest, into the same tender spot where she had shot him with the harpoon. He faltered for a fraction of a second, not wanting to cause her any more pain, but knowing there was no other way to do this. He braced his knees and inhaled.

"Here we go," he said softly.

"Get it over with," she ordered, her lips moving against his skin making him tremble before he could stop himself. He pulled her out in one smooth, swift motion.

Her body pressed into his. On a subconscious level, he took note of every curve, every sharp angle of her, every delicately layered scent on her; memorizing it to pour over later, when alone in his room and free to examine his motives and actions, he would think of her eyes, deep and mysterious, of her hair, matted with blood, but still like silk where it brushed against his neck and face; mostly, of the way she felt against him. So small, fragile; like an injured bird. How the surge of protectiveness washed through him. How he knew what he was doing was the right thing. That to leave her there would have been wrong; criminal. Unthinkable. Dishonorable.

He stumbled back, as gracefully and gently as he could manage. He felt her arms tighten around his neck; her mouth open, felt her teeth digging into the front of his plastron covered chest, sending a sharp but not unpleasant jolt through him. His breath hitched. He felt heat course through him despite the frigid air billowing around them. Shamefully, he felt himself harden. His face colored. He chastised himself for being weak; disgusted with himself.

She inhaled, sucking hard, and then went limp in his arms. A rag doll. Broken and helpless. Doing his best to keep himself calm, he gathered her up, mindful of her leg and hurried through the now shin-deep snow. Eyes wide, he took in the matted blood, the patches of bruising near her collar bone. She'd need medical attention as soon as possible.

At the compound, Donatello placed the duffle into the back of the van. He turned to greet Leonardo. "Did you find anything?" His face dropped. His eyes nearly popped out of his head from behind his glasses as he took in the bundle in his brother's arms. "What are you doing? Who is that? Is that one of the soldiers? It is!" he squeaked. Leonardo glanced at him but said nothing. "What are you doing? Are you out of your mind?" Don's volley of questions piled up as Leonardo strode past him into the garage. Donatello followed on his heels. "Where are you going? That's one of the Foot soldiers. Leo, Leo?"

With one leg, Leo kicked several crates out of the way. "Get a blanket," he ordered and Donatello stood in place, blinking. Leo turned his head. "She's in shock. Get a blanket."

"Leo," Donatello licked his lips and glanced around. What was going on here?

The look his brother shot him had him putting up his hands and hurrying out to the van, muttering under his breath that his brother must have hit his head or something out in the fields. He dashed back inside where Leo was carefully laying the woman down. He handed the blanket to his brother and watched him cover her. Noted the tender care that he used as he tucked it around her, patting her shoulder once, fingers lingering for a moment before withdrawing. Donatello blinked hard. What the heck was going on?

Leo sat back on his haunches. Rubbed his hand over his head and glanced over his shoulder at Don. "I couldn't leave her out there."

Donnie nodded, crossed his arms. He braced one finger against his lip, nibbled on it. "I understand. I do. Sure. Only . . . uh, I'd like to point out the obvious and state the fact out loud in case it hasn't crossed your mind – she's in the Foot Clan." He pointed to the symbol just visible over the edge of the blanket. "The Foot Clan, Leo."

"Call an ambulance."

"Right. Call an ambulance. Okay," Donatello looked around, at a loss. "Sure. Yes. That's . . . probably, uh, the right thing to do, I suppose. I'll do it on our way. Leo, you know I don't care for repeating myself but you do know that's one of the Foot. You know, the people who were working with Sacks. The ones that nearly killed us."

Leo stood up, moved in front of him. Their eyes met. "Call one now."

Donnie blinked, then slowly reached up and pressed a button on the modified Bluetooth connected to his gear. His eyes bounced between Leo's. His brother had lost it. "Okay, uh, calling one now."

Leo turned and glanced at the woman he'd rescued. His heart pounded and with some reluctance, he turned away. Donatello was just disconnecting as Leo nodded, "Let's go."

Without a word spoken between them, they piled into the van and peeled out, taking the back roads towards the city. Donatello gave him a sidelong glance. He shook his head, glanced at him again but kept his mouth shut. His hands slid back and forth over the top of the steering wheel. He shifted in his seat.

Leo broke the uncomfortable silence between them, "She'd been out there, alone, with a broken leg for two days."

Donatello considered this. Wondered what his brother was driving at.

"Will she be okay?" Leo asked.

Donatello blinked, frowned deeply. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. In a soft voice he answered, "Does it really matter?"

Leo started at the response, then pressed his mouth into a tight line, staring out the windshield to the black, winding road in front of the van, the passing trees a blur of white and gray and black. From the corner of his vision he noted his brother's bemused and slightly angry expression, felt Donatello's building irritation with him and couldn't help but wonder what exactly  _had_  he been thinking when he rescued her. He knew what she was and who she worked for: the Foot Clan. But she was just a soldier, a pawn. Probably just following orders. Got herself mixed up with the wrong group. If given the chance, he was sure she'd probably leave the organization.

Donatello's voice broke through his defensive line of thought, startling him into realizing that he'd just been making excuses for someone who wanted them dead. What the hell was wrong with him? His jaw worked. Enough of this.

"How about some music?" Donnie asked in an uncharacteristically rough voice, shooting him an intense look. Yeah, Donnie was pissed at him.

Leo nodded and flicked on the radio. A love song started to play, something about forbidden longing, and yearning. Donatello and Leonardo's hand shot out at the same time to hit the button to change channels. Both their fingers mashed the button, hard. They exchanged uneasy glances and then started to laugh. The tension evaporated and Leo braced the side of his temple against his knuckles, elbow against the edge of the door. Donatello chuckled, sounding relieved and more like his usual happy self. He tapped his fingers along the top of the steering wheel in time with the upbeat pop song now playing.

"Glad that's over," Donnie said and Leo couldn't agree more. Though to what part exactly he was referring, Leo wasn't sure. Either way, it didn't matter. He'd never see that woman again, and frankly, was relieved.

"Yeah," Leo responded and peered out into the darkness. Distantly the sound of an ambulance siren fired through the night and a sense of deeper relief flooded through him. He sighed and only then relaxed into the seat; partially listening to Don explain how he would store the blood for later use; his mind preoccupied as the vision of her dark green eyes danced along the edges of his consciousness.


	2. Secret Seas

She heard the rattling, paused with head cocked, listening; body held stiff and rigid.  The hair on the back of her neck rose.  Something was making that noise.  Something buried in the snow up ahead.  But what, exactly? 

She moved again.  Through the skeletal trees, her boots stepped lightly and soundlessly.  In her hand, she realized with a start, was a tanto.  The silver blade glinted in the twilight light, diming to deeper greys the further she stepped into the woods.  Her breath puffed in mini clouds but her body was not cold.  In fact, she felt quite warm, almost uncomfortably so.

The rattling sound came again and it sent a thrill of fear through her.  She paused, dark green eyes sweeping the interior darkness of the trees and spiny branches of bare bushes.  This feeling of fear was alien and unwelcome to her.  She was Oroku Karai.  She feared little to nothing.  She’d been trained since a child to dispose of useless emotions such as fear; hope; love.  And only one man in all the world could spurn that delicate panic, that icy flush within her and he was not here.  Her father was on the opposite side of the world.  Wasn’t he?  She frowned.  Wait.  The darkness seeped around her as she turned in a slow circle.  Where was she?  What was she doing out here?  Uneasiness swept through her.  The noise skittered around her, focusing her again.  It was the sound of brittle survival, of last breaths rationed and sipped, of life being held onto stubbornly to the end. 

She moved forward, swiftly now, squaring her shoulders and bristling with defiance.  She would not be cowed by a sound.  She would not wither in the face of a phantom.  The trees cleared the deeper she went and she found herself stopping at the mouth of a clearing.  A small glen.  In the center lay a form.  Strange and misshapen.  Yet familiar.  Almost human.  But not quite. 

With some trepidation, she crept closer.  Just as she suspected.  An animal, its bloodied, shattered leg snagged in an overly large bear trap-like contraption; the device looked disjointed and odd, too large.  Almost like a caricature of a trap.  The surrounding snow was peppered in blots of crimson, streaks of red and rust.  The rattling sound came again as the animal turned.  No.  Not an animal.  Karai’s rattling breath drew in.  A pair of storm-blue eyes, wide with curiosity and something like awe, but not fear or pain as she’d have guessed, met hers.  

“You’re hurt,” he said in a rough voice, but somehow not unpleasant.

Her heart leaped.  The blade dropped into the snow, disappearing without a sound. 

Karai’s eyes snapped open as she gasped.  Her fists gripped handfuls of bedding, reaching, for something . . . the tanto?  No, his hand.  She tried to get up.  She couldn’t move.  Something pressed her back.  Panic galloped through her and she struggled weakly before realizing that it was blankets and nothing more keeping her in place.  But there was a weight on her chest and something was pressing on her face.  Her gaze inched to one side and tentacles hung in the space between the air and the rest of the room.  It took a second to process that it was nothing but tubing connected from a ventilation machine and an IV stand to her battered body.  The gentle rhythmic beeping of the medical equipment surrounding her brought reality firm and unrelenting into focus.  The rattling sound filled the room.  She could have laughed if she had the strength.  Her breath.  Her breathing. 

She tried to raise her head and felt a streak of pain; a band tightening across her chest and abdomen.  She winced and laid her head back.  The pressure in her chest increased.  Her lungs ached and burned. 

Her fingers eased from their clenched hold as she forced herself to calm down, to remember her training, her years of practiced meditation.  Her father insisted on meditating upon the symbol of their clan, but she never found peace within the three-pronged sigil.  Only a vague resentment that she kept buried and hidden.  Instead, she pictured the secret scene that she so often did when she was hurting from a hard span of training or sparring, or just having trouble escaping from the ugly reality she found herself encased within: the expanse of rice fields just beyond the fenced-in yard with the large cherry tree in full blossom; her bare feet upon the clean, smooth surface of the wooden porch; the breeze with the teasing hint of salt from the sea just over the ridge of mountains reaching her; soothing her.  She was no one here.  Only the breath within her, the breeze without.  A woman unknown.  With no history whether innocent or violent.  Nothing.  No one.  Free.

Calmer now, better now, she took in a long slow breath and noticed how her chest ached.  She frowned.  Pneumonia? Perhaps.  She noted that her body was in places numb and in others too sensitive, as though nerve endings were awake in some areas and sleeping in others.  Wincing, she tried to raise her head again, only to have the same pain cut through her.  She rolled her eyes in aggravation.  This was getting old, quick.

She reached up and pulled the breathing mask from her face, stretching the elastic to yank it up and over her face with a grunt.  Her body protested the movements but she needed the wretched thing off her face, _now_. She tossed it to one side of her body and worked her jaw.  Better.  Though those simple movements made her feel weary and she fought the edges of sleep pulling at her senses. 

She had to remember.  The dream she had before waking taunted along the horizon of her contemplation.  That strange animal.  No, those eyes.  He was human?  No, that wasn’t right either. 

She stiffened as the memories invaded her mind.  Chunks of visions roiled in her head and slammed into the shoreline of her consciousness.  The vigilantes.  The hostages.  The creatures like men, but not; sad eyes, intelligent and sorrowful looking back at her as she paced in front of them, trapped in the large tubes.  What were they?  She found herself gazing at them each in turn, unable to stop herself.  The one in the middle in particular.  Something in his countenance.  Something regal and imposing.  And yet, strangely gentle.  They looked like yokai, she’d decided.  Almost like Kappa from her story books.  But those were fairy tales.  Myths.

She recalled Sacks coming into the lab then and she stepped away; hardening herself and cutting herself off from her natural tendency of being too curious.  Too adventurous for her own good.  Something her father did his best to discourage in her, any way he could since she could remember.   She was to listen.  To obey.  She was not to question.  She was to only serve and please her master; her sensei; father. 

Karai’s eyes wandered the ceiling, tracing along the cracks above while her thoughts traced the cracks within.  The next memory brought the aftertaste of regret, which she immediately denied, shoving away the feeling with force. 

The man that she’d given the poison to.  The quivering idiot.  She didn’t know him.  He was nothing.  No one.  Like the other drones in the Foot Clan.  Inconsequential.  His death was one of many at her hands over the years.  And yet, as she pulled away from his writhing body and caught their looks, his expression, the one in the middle, searing into her with something like disgust and disapproval, a twinge of something in the pit of her stomach.  No one made her feel shame.  No one but her father.  No one else would even dare.  In that moment she wished to strike the mutant.  To spit in his face for that look.  But she restrained herself.  What did it matter?  Her reaction was ridiculous.  They were going to be disposed of regardless.  Let him have his disapproval.

Karai balled her fists.  Useless.  These emotions.  Nothing but obstacles in the way of doing what she was trained to do.  To serve.  To obey.  Her heart pounded.  Still.  She could not let it go.  How dare he look at her like that?  The memory was enough to rankle her and she started to cough.  But stubbornly, she would not replace the mask.  She glared at it as though it held the culpability of all her suffering.  Her eyes burned and her chest felt as though it were collapsing inwards.  Finally, she took hold of it, placed it over her nose and mouth and gasped.  Only after the pain eased and she could breathe again did she dropped it away.  She’d been accused of many things in her life by her masters, her father, but a fool was not one of them. 

Her eyes drifted closed and when she opened them again, she realized that she had drifted into a dreamless sleep.  The rattling remained.  She tried again to recall what had happened to her.  When the hummer rolled on top of her and her leg snapped like a dried branch, when the pain lanced through her as though she’d been speared from the back of her neck through her groin, she thought, in that instant, that her time had come.  She’d fallen unconscious, she knew.  Was sure of it.  Because when she opened her eyes again it was to new agony.  She’d shouted for assistance, thinking that there were still soldiers about.  She tried to free herself and only made the vehicle shift, causing her to become more tangled in the straps, more pain that blotted out her consciousness for another stretch of unknown time. 

When she awoke again, she was exhausted and numb.  Cold.  She could not stop shivering.  The stillness frightened her.  Anger filled her.  She tried shouting again, but found her voice soft and hoarse; ineffectual.  She dug her fingers into the seats, laying vertical as the vehicle had tipped on its side, trying to drag herself upright.  More pain jolted through her.  Bright and sharp.  Electric and cruel.  She bit back her cry of pain, knowing it was useless.  And oddly, thought of firing on the mutant with the electrical harpoon. 

The glee that she’d felt in that moment, caught up in the wild chase down the mountain, so sure of her victory.  The knowledge of making her father _proud_ speeding her forward.  She would not fail him.  She would not. 

And the chase was so sweet!  The exhilaration as adrenaline surged through her system.  This was living.  This was the part of her life she actually enjoyed.  When set free to race and hunt under the illusion that it was all real, that she could run and run and run and never look back; before the leash snagged, the collar yanked at her throat, and she was reeled back once more to her pen; caged and bored, but mostly, with the dull, distant ache of loneliness to keep her company.

Despite the deep loathing of the life she’d led up to this point, she was not about to give up.  She could not.  After the years of obedience and sacrifice.  To be crushed behind the rolling vehicle, trapped and left to rot in the forest like so much road-kill.  No.  It could not end this way.  It could not.  She gritted her teeth and tried again to free herself. 

But as in the life she led, there was nothing more she could do; thrash and groan and grind her teeth as much as she wanted, she was trapped.  At the mercy of things beyond her control.  If she knew how, she would have cried.  If she remembered, she would have thought of her mother.  Lost to the years and the consistent demands of obedience and denial of all things tied to emotions.  All things soft and weak, tender and free. 

And finally she cried out, eyes dry, heart empty; the sound an animal noise of desperation, frustration and helplessness.  She hated that sound, hated herself for making such a pathetic whimper, but could not help it as she tried again and again, until she fell back, panting and shivering.

And the vehicle suddenly pitched and shifted.  She tensed, thinking it had somehow gotten loose from where it had lodged and was now drifting into a slow slide down the rest of the mountainside.  Her heart jumped into her throat as the metallic groaning roared like a beast through the stillness and the door suddenly was thrown back.  The shattering glass like a flock of brittle wings scattering through the parchment sky.

A dark form filled the space and blue eyes peered down at her.  She blinked and realized that she was hallucinating or dead and this was a demon come to collect her soul.  She stared into those startling eyes, shoring up her defiance and stubborn will.  Thinking all the time, _what are you waiting for, demon?_

“You’re hurt,” he said gruffly.

And through the pain and dehydration, through the haze of her muddled mind, she knew then who it was, and accepted that her time, had in fact, come.  But he had not come to finish her off.  He’d helped her.  Where there was no one else.  No soldiers, no clan members, no one seeking her out, only this mutant with the eyes like storming seas.  In her delirium, she thought she smelled the briny scent of ocean waves, the fluttering sound of cherry blossoms sprinkling a jade green lawn.  Children’s laughter. She’d been utterly out of her mind, Karai decided and shifted uncomfortably in her bed.

The door opened and a doctor swept inside, followed by several nurses who immediately replaced the mask over her face despite her scowling up at them.  The doctor checked the machines and made a few notes on a tablet.  Karai tried to speak, only croaked and lifted the mask with one trembling hand.

“Where is . . . my father?”

The doctor gave her a bland glance and then swept his fingers across the screen of his tablet.  “He will be here presently.”

Karai could not help but smile as relief bubbled through her.  The loneliness that she’d not even realized she’d been feeling was swept away like so many clinging cobwebs upon her heart.  He was coming here.  To see her.  To make sure his daughter was okay.  Her eyelids fluttered. 

When they opened again the room was empty aside from a nurse adjusting the blinds of the private room’s window.  A spike of worry that she’d missed her father’s arrival lanced her.  But her fear dissipated instantly as the door opened again and he entered.  Karai tried to sit up.  The nurse turned towards the door and then hastily turned again and hurried to assist with arranging the mattress to rise up to allow her to see her father with some dignity.  The nurse backed off and fled from the room like a mouse scurrying away from a particularly hungry-looking feline. 

Again the smile, weak but genuine spread across Karai’s face before she could hide it.  Pride in her father welled up in her.  Pride in the respect he commanded, the fear he instilled.  Happiness that he’d come to see her, despite the fact that he’d taught her to value only cunning and would have punished her for being so weak as to be ‘happy’ to see him.

“Father,” she said meekly as the imposing figure strode up to the bedside.

Dark eyes flickered over her and then rested at her face.  His countenance darkened and her smile evaporated. 

“Karai.” 

He glanced at the machines and seemed to hold them in contempt.  Karai shifted, feeling the familiar emptying out of her emotions beneath the suffocating presence of his disapproval.  The tingling beginnings of fear; the dragging sense of dread in her acid-filled stomach.

He looked down at her once more.  “How did you manage to survive?”

The question took her aback.  He sounded surprised and not the least bit impressed.  He sounded suspicious. 

She ran a cotton-coated tongue over dry lips.  His eyes rose up in her mind.  His large hand reaching.  His tender voice speaking so politely to her that it turned her stomach.  Who spoke to an enemy like that?  Then his arms under her, lifting her, the joy that rushed through her, the giddy happiness that someone had come.  Someone was saving her.  Even if it was him.  A smaller voice, a shameful, guilty voice whispered, _my hero_.  Immediately she began coughing.

The Shredder folded his arms and stared at her impatiently.  “Well?”

“I . . . _coff coff_ . . . I do not . . . _coff_ . . . remember, father,” she sputtered under the mask and grimaced at the pain.

A tick in his jaw.  A darkening of his features.  “Karai,” he said, voice dripping in menace.  “Several men were found killed when the ambulance picked you up.”

Karai blinked at him.  This was news to her.  She was unconscious when the ambulance found her.  In the compound.  The mutant had brought her and had . . . called an ambulance?  She blinked rapidly before smoothing her face into a neutral mask; her father eying her with distrust.

“How did you arrive back at the compound?  Who called the ambulance?”

She shook her head, heart pounding, all the while feeling overwhelmed and confused.  Why?  Why did he not just leave me?  What was he playing at?  Her fingers tugged at the blankets nervously.

The Shredder looked at the foot of her bed.  He moved and retrieved something.  He held up a patched blanket.  Held it out to her like an accusation.

“And this?”

“I d-don’t know . . . Father, I-I do not remember.”

He watched her face carefully and slung the blanket over her mid-section with a soft grunt.  She caught the words he mumbled as he turned away from her and the pain in her chest had nothing to do with the pneumonia.

_“Useless.  Always.”_

She closed her eyes as her father left the room without another word, without a glance back.

“Goodbye, Father,” she whispered and wished for unconsciousness to claim her once again.  Instead she lay there; deprived, hollow and hurting, inside and out; long into the lonely hours of the early morning.

When sleep finally stole her away, she dreamt of rice fields swaying to an ocean breeze and cherry blossoms falling over her head.  And someone gazing at her with eyes like the stormy seas.


	3. Fantasy Meets Reality

He lingered in the narrow gangway watching unseen as the shop keepers pulled metal gates over their windows, bolted doors and hurried to catch cabs; others heading towards the subway station a few blocks away; chatting with co-workers or dashing off in muted distraction.  All pulling collars and hoods up to guard against the misting rain.  Constant and persistent as a whispered confession.  Heavy enough to stain clothing, but not enough to require umbrellas. 

Leonardo remained, partially protected from the rain by a brightly colored overhang connected to the eave above the side delivery door of the flower shop.  Doing his best to keep his mind blank.  It wasn’t easy.  The voice of his father continued to creep between the cracks of his concentration; chastising him; furious and confused.  What would Splinter think to know that he’d not only lied about his whereabouts this evening, but also that he intended to see her again?  Well, try to, at least. 

And more than that, he thought, as he eyed the delivery door to the florist shop he stood just beside.  He tired of simply watching her from a distance, tonight he would leave a token of his admiration.  Leonardo ducked his head.  Oh, if his father found out.  It wouldn’t be pretty. 

As much as he desired the blessing and approval of his sensei in all his endeavors, this was something he couldn’t bring to his father’s attention.  He wouldn’t understand.  He couldn’t.  Besides, there was nothing for his father to know or to concern himself with.  Leonardo had everything under control.  They’d risked getting closer to humans than he’d planned on tonight before.  Much closer, actually. 

 _True, but those times were due to necessity, and what is this?_ the voice of his father chided. 

Leonardo brushed the doubt away.  This was nothing he couldn’t manage with the barest exercise of stealth.  In and out.  Fade back into the shadows.  Easy.  He just had to see her again.  Even a mere glimpse would be enough.  It had been enough to sustain him these past few weeks. 

xxxxxxxxxxx

Lurking upon the tallest spire of St. Augustine’s church across from the private wing of the hospital by the same name, he’d just been able to peer into the window between the open blinds to see her lying in bed, pale and weak; fragile in her infirmity; and more lovely than he’d remembered. 

He’d watch as she was visiting and questioned by the police.  The hard lines her face took on when challenged and the exhaustion she submitted to when her room was empty.  No family that he could tell visited.  At least of the times he’d watched over her.  She was almost always alone.  No flowers or get well cards littered the surface of the room’s tables.  Not like the rooms above and below hers; where balloons and bouquets of every shape and size cluttered around the patients.  Hers remained empty of anything that might suggest affection or caring. 

The more he visited the more he gained a sense of isolation and loneliness that seemed to pervade her.  Observing her in secret inspired within him a rush of emotions and strongest among these was the need to offer her some comfort.  He wanted to do something more for her than just admire her from a distance.  Though he’d never admit it aloud, the private wing of the hospital that she recuperated within, with its gloomy architecture reminded him a little of a prison tower; the doctors and nurses were the guardsmen and Karai was the princess confined within.  Alone and forgotten by all but him.

And his heart sped a little faster.

It was only by chance that Leonardo crossed paths again with the mysterious woman that inspired such a tangle of new emotions within him.  Since rescuing her from the wreckage of the vehicle, six weeks before, he’d banished her from his conscious thoughts.  Or had tried to.

There were more pressing issues to preoccupy Leonardo’s days with; they’d sought out and found a new place to set up as their home; there was the steady work of relocating all their possessions, of helping Donatello and Raphael establish electricity and plumbing; as well as the adjustment to having someone outside their small inner circle becoming part of the family.   April was warm, intelligent and helpful.  And she seemed particularly fond of his brother, Raphael.  Something he wasn’t sure about how to deal with.  Deciding to allow his father to take the lead on that and simply follow along with his sensei’s decisions. 

He’d been looking for Donatello to ask about finishing wiring on their outer door’s security locks to the new lair, when distracted by a fleeting news reel running along the bottom of one of Donatello’s screens.  And something within him leapt up from where it had lain, biding its time, stalking along the very edges of his dreams.  His eyes had scanned the information as his breath froze in his chest and his heart suddenly sped up. 

Ms. Karai Oroku, a spokesperson for and one of the heads of security for Sacks Industries N.Y., who had possible ties to the organized crime syndicate, the Foot Clan, was recovering from undisclosed injuries at St. Augustine’s Hospital.  She was in good condition and being questioned by police regarding the Sacks tower collapse, as well as the reported incidents of criminal activity at the private estate north of the city where the ambulance had picked her up.  There’d been a mention of the private wing of the hospital.  Leonardo had rushed from the room, only pausing to tell Michelangelo that he’d be back later, and not to worry.

xxxxxxxxx

The sound of someone approaching from within the shop and the metal handle of the door turning interrupted his thoughts.  He tensed.  He eased back; blending into the lengthening shadows between dumpsters as the door swung open and an older woman hauled the day’s spent blooms into the nearest bin.  Over the scent of sour beer and exhaust fumes in the alley, Leonardo’s sensitive nose picked out the layered notes of carnations, lilies, and - he stiffened - what he’d been hoping for the most: roses. 

The door to the shop snapped shut and he moved swiftly to open the bin.  His heart jumped.  There on the top over the pile of crushed tissue paper, receipts, broken stems and flowers lay several roses in different shades.  Picking out the least crushed and damaged, he laid the red bloom carefully onto a light towel, rolling it gently and slipping it into one empty sheath on his back.  Giddy with his prize, he dashed through the puddles and jumped to catch hold of the bottom run of the nearest fire escape. 

Within the hour, he was plotting his way down the decorative architecture of the private wing to St. Augustine.  Upside down, rose stem clenched between his teeth, he worked his way lower, meaning to drop it on the outer sill for her to possibly see the next time she looked out the window.  And perhaps feel not so alone.  Not so forgotten.  Maybe she might even consider it was from him, though he knew, logically, there was no way of that really happening. 

He made it to the decorative molding adorning the top of her private room’s window and peered inside.  He nearly lost his grip to see her standing there directly beyond the window pane, gazing out into the night sky.  Her shocked expression was the last thing he saw as he spun and clambered back up the side of the building. Cursing from between his teeth as he climbed; eyes wide. 

On the roof, he spat out the rose and raced between the large HVAC units, his feet crushing against the gravel strewn surface.  He’d just managed to duck behind one as the roof access door slammed open.  He peered around the unit and snapped his eyes closed, cursing again under his breath in Japanese. 

The dark hair and slight figure were unmistakable.  She moved with the grace of someone well trained as a dancer or in martial arts.  Her footsteps were so light upon the surface, that they barely made any sound at all.  Her face cast about and Leonardo held his breath as she spotted the abandoned rose and stiffened. 

She pulled the long coat tightly to her chest as she stooped to retrieve the bruised bloom; twisting and searching the roof for any sight of him.  She stared at the rose and held it to her nose before dropping it away and calling out, “There’s no use hiding.  I know you’re here.”

Leonardo crouched, frozen with indecision; part of his mind screamed for him to disappear, the other wanted to see what would come next.  Riveted to the spot, the closest he’d come to her since that day in the forest.

She held out the rose, “And this?  What sort of enemy rescues his adversary and then delivers gifts at their window?”

“One who sees no true cause for hostility between us,” he called out softly before he could stop himself.

Karai’s head snapped around towards the sound of his voice, but remained where she was.  Leonardo tensed.  This was reckless, he thought.  Stupid.  Dangerous.  His pulse strummed as his heart pounded. 

“Show yourself,” she replied, equally as soft.

In a moment of boldness, he straightened up and emerged from where he’d hidden himself.  The misting rain glistened off his shoulders, making his skin shiver and gleam.  And as in the vehicle, when he first met her, she remained blank-faced.  Her eyes watchful and deep as she studied him.   He felt exposed and at the same time welcomed her appraisal.  And he wished he knew what she was thinking.

Her cough broke the tension of the moment.  He advanced before thinking, only stopping when he was a few feet in front of her; pulling his hand back from where he’d reached out.

“You shouldn’t be out here in the rain.”

“You should not be so foolish as to present yourself to an enemy.”

“I don’t think of you as such.”

Karai blinked and something flickered across her calm exterior.  Surprise.  But it was quickly smoothed back to a more neutral expression, twisting into something like a smirk.

“Then you  _are_  a fool.”

He replied quickly, “Am I?”  She blinked at him, coughing into one loose fist.  He noticed she had not let go of the rose in her other hand and he felt a surge of happiness for the fact. 

Her smirk twisted into a snarl.  “I could have men take you,” she snapped her fingers, “like that.”

He advanced on her, looming over her; eyes icy and hard.  “You are alone.”

Instantly she dropped and swept her leg around, attempting to trip him.  He leaped up and back, bracing his legs wide and bringing up his fists in a fighting stance.  Her heel swung at him.  He blocked and threw it aside.  Her fist came up followed by her elbow.  She spun and hooked her foot around, missing his face and sending her slipper hurtling through the air.  All of this he easily blocked, shifting back and back again through the soaking gravel. 

“Why do you attack me?” he asked as he ducked another round house. 

She spun with the advance of another kick.  Sweeping through nothing but air.  As she landed, it was with less grace than a moment before and she stumbled to one side.  He lurched forward and caught her elbow.  She punched with her opposite fist.  His head jerked from the impact and he blinked down at her with a low growl. 

“Because I defeat my enemies!  Human or mutant  _freak!”_  she spat the last word at him.

He started as her words stung him.  Unable to hide the hurt as it flashed across his face. 

Wasting no time, she braced her feet and using his thigh and chest as leverage, ran up the length of him, twisting out of his hold and snapping his chin back as her foot cracked it.  She flipped backwards and landed sloppily, falling back into the gravel; panting and perspiring; her coat open to reveal the thin cotton gown and bare legs.  She started coughing violently.  Her head flung back as she tried to catch her breath.  Chest heaving.

Despite his bruised feelings, Leonardo’s eyes devoured the sight, unable to fight the natural urge to take in her beauty.  The hollows of her throat slick and gleaming with sweat and rain; the curves the material of her gown clung to; the smooth lines of her toned legs; the muscles of her thighs where the gown had ridden up nearly to her hip. 

He swept his heated gaze away, unwilling to torture himself further, feeling ashamed for indulging his passionate feelings for even those brief seconds.  When he looked back, she was still out of breath, but sitting upright, tinted hair sticking to her cheeks and forehead, staring at him.  A strange expression on her face. 

“Why did you rescue me?” she asked between soft gasps.  She turned and reached out to gather the battered rose from the place she’d dropped it earlier before attacking him.  She held it up and cocked her head.  “And why did you bring me this?”

Her tone was only curious, but he couldn’t help but detect a note of incredulity to it.  He swallowed.  Why did he?  With a rush, reality crashed down upon him.  She saw him only at best as an adversary to be taken down, at worst, a mutant freak to have disposed.  He felt ridiculous and exposed.  Vulnerable and irresponsible.  She was right.  He was a fool.  He shouldn’t have come here.  What the hell had he been thinking?  Allowing himself to fall into a fantasy, and for what reason?  He frowned.

“It was a mistake,” he replied and turned away. Fighting the urge to flee from her.  To race away from his disgrace and humiliation.

Her hand was on his arm before he even heard the motion of her rising.  He twisted out of her reach, expecting another attack and feeling angry and strangely hurt but not wanting to fight with a sickly woman.  Though her attack showed solid form, it had been weak. More dishonor upon his actions.  

He stared at her and her eyes held a defiant gleam, challenging him despite her obviously worsening condition.  Her face was pale and drawn.  She was in pain, but trying to conceal it from him.  She was stubborn, he’d give her that. He took another step back, hands up in surrender.  He only wished to leave.

“I want to know your name.”

He blinked at her, then moved to go.

“Wait.”

He paused.

“Answer me,” she commanded, though her voice wavered at the end.

He huffed and climbed onto the concrete parapet.

She hurried to follow.  “I-I wish to know the name of the . . . man who . . .” she trailed off, seeming to lose the thread of what she’d meant to say to him.

He twisted and regarded her with an icy stare; feeling still hurt and yet compelled to answer.  “I’m not a man.  I’m a mutant.  A ninja,” he clarified in a clipped tone.

“Then when I am stronger, I will want to test your skill,” she announced giving him pause.

He frowned and gaped at her a little, “Wh-What?”

She pulled her coat about her and smiled up at him.  It was the first time he’d seen her smile and it did things to him.  His eyes fell to the rose clutched in her fist.  Her gaze followed his then bounced back to him.

“Spar with me,” she offered, “sometime.”  She rattled off an address.  “Soon.”

He realized she’d just given him her home address and as that sunk in, he immediately thought,  _it has to be a trap._  Mutely, he could only stand there, on the edge of the roof, blinking down at her in the misting rain.

She started to cough again and took a step back.  Then another. 

“Leonardo,” he said and she stopped.  “My name is Leonardo.”

She bowed then and straightened, a smile tugging at her lips. That he pleased her should not have made his heart stumble.  The back of his neck heated.  “I am Karai.”

“I know who you are,” he said softly.

“You are mistaken,” she corrected with a hard glint in her eye. 

And before he could question her further, or even contemplate the meaning of her response, the door to the roof slammed open and a nurse hurried out into the open.  He leapt from the edge, but not before he heard the nurse exclaim, “Miss Oroku!  I can’t believe you! Out on the roof, in this rain?! What would your father think!?  Do you have a death wish?!”

Karai gazed over her shoulder to where Leonardo had just a moment before stood, outlined in a sharp contrast of stoic majesty and fragile vulnerability, as the nurse flung a blanket over her shoulders

“Perhaps that is the case,” she murmured but went unheard over the nurse’s chastisement and further exclamations of her father’s potential fury.

_____________________


	4. Bad Mojo

 

He ran the length of the tunnel, heels chased by an uncharacteristic giddiness, until the brick walls gave way to rusted metal pipe.  Leaping over the break where the water churned and rolled in a whirlpool fifteen feet below, he landed without a pause in his stride.  His arms pumped and his legs moved onwards of their own accord, following the well-memorized path back to the new lair from one of many exits that he and Donatello had scouted once they’d moved in. His body ran on auto-pilot as his mind lingered in sweet repose, locked on the earlier scene with his lady-fair. Going over the vision of the sublime curve of her calf as she threw her kicks, but more heatedly on the gleam of interest in her eyes as he stepped into the light, allowing her to take him in, exposed and open to her scrutiny. _I think she approved,_ he thought with a smirk. Leonardo chuckled as he turned the sharp corner and moved west towards the abandoned pumping station.

“Then when I am stronger, I will want to test your skill,” he mouthed Karai’s words and felt the delightful tingle rush over him, starting in the lower segments of his tail and spreading rapidly through his shell and over his flesh.  He shuddered and ducked to reach through fallen pipes to grasp the rusted metal handwheel. Any earlier trepidation over seeing her again melted away with his youthful self-assurance that there was nothing that she could do to cause him any trouble. The handwheel squealed as he turned it; his bicep bunched with the effort. He yanked it forward with a soft grunt to reveal a number plate; he punched in the code and immediately the hidden gears groaned all around him and the hatch opened to his right.

He was immediately hit by a jangling, upbeat wave of blaring music. Wincing from the loudness, he slipped through the door and closed it firmly behind him. He stood with his mouth hanging open as he took in the scene.

Michelangelo was in one corner, sunglasses over his eyes, working the turn-table that Donatello had built him years ago for a Christmas present. His face was split into a huge grin as he pressed a pair of headphones to the side of his face and scratched a record back and forth, setting Leo’s teeth on edge. On either side of the living room, party globes spun, casting a multitude of colors spinning across the walls, ceiling and floor. The couch and floor cushions were shoved aside near the wall, making a large space in the center.  Half-empty bowls of popcorn and chips covered the low coffee table near the television.  He frowned at the sight of beer bottles nestled between the snacks and stashed beneath the table. But most surprisingly was Raphael – in the center of it all – dancing his shell off to the ecstatic delight of April, who sat upright on her knees, with her back to him, clapping in time with the bass.

_What the hell?_

Leonardo crept along the perimeter, one arm trailing along the wall as if he were loath to venture further into the madcap scene before him any deeper than he absolutely had to. His eyes searched the room for any sign of either his father or Donatello. Which was preposterous, because there was no way, aside from New Year’s Eve parties and Fourth of July, that he allowed his sons this level of revelry.  Leonardo froze for a moment, realizing his error. If Splinter had left the lair, then there was no way he could hide the fact that he wasn’t home when Splinter left. He’d need an excuse. A good one.

That unpleasant thought swirled in his mind as he made it to the doorway to the kitchen and ducked inside.  Over the sound of the music, he thought he heard Mikey’s voice calling out in greeting, but he chose instead to find Donatello and ask him about Splinter.  As he hurried across the room, he noted the mess and scowled. Bags of chips and chili-popcorn spilled their remnants all over the table and floor. The sink was full of unwashed dishes and more empty bottles of beer lined the counter next to the sink. He moved out of the kitchen back down the passageway to Donatello’s lab, feeling more put out by the second. The music thumped along the walls but it grew dimmer as he came up upon Donatello’s door. He frowned at the sign posted eye-level which read:

‘Do Not Enter Under Penalty of Death’.

With a huff, he pushed his way inside his younger brother’s sanctuary.

He was met with a shout of irritation as Donatello wheeled around from the work-table, welding mask covering his face. “I said not to bother me! Go back to your -” he started and twisted the torch off and flipped up his mask. “Oh! Uh, oh, Leo, what are you doing home?” He shifted his feet and looked nervously behind him and then adjusted where he stood to shelter what he’d been working on from Leonardo’s view, all while smiling encouragingly and failing miserably to act natural. His hands worked along the edge of the table, fidgeting and restless.

“What do you mean? I told Raphael I’d be gone an hour, at the very most,” he said and stalked into the room, ignoring Donatello’s immediate twisting to cover the amalgam of metal parts laid out across the surface of the table and something that looked suspiciously like an assault rifle. He pulled a heavy tarp over the bulk of it which Leo instantly took one edge of and peeked beneath. “What’s this?” He cocked his brow at Donatello just as his brother’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

“It was going to be a surprise.”

Leonardo covered it again. He eyed Donatello and glanced at the lump hidden by the tarp. He spoke slowly, “I really don’t think Raphael needs a rocket launcher.”

Donatello huffed in irritation. “It’s not a rocket launcher, Leo. Why would I build a rocket launcher when we have sufficient fire power equipped on the van?”

Leo ran a hand over his face. “Master Splinter said no weaponry within the confines of our living space.”

Donatello’s frustration gave way to a sheepish look. “It’s not. My lab doesn’t count as communal living space.”

Leonardo stared at him. “Don, you sleep in here more nights than not. And if it’s not a rocket launcher, then what is it?”

Donatello shrugged and his face looked guiltier than ever.  “Don’t get mad.”

Leonardo listened intently, his features hardening.

“I said don’t get mad!”

“Donatello,” Leo started in a warning tone.

“Okay, So. I-I, uh, sort of borrowed some of the weapons I _accidentally_ stumbled upon at Sack’s compound when we went back to collect and destroy any remaining containers of our blood.”

Leo blinked. “What?” he breathed with incredulity.

Donatello started talking animatedly as he moved from the table to a stack of small long crates that only now Leonardo noticed.

“How could I resist? I mean the technology here is incredible. I’m sure you’ve read stories about guns propelling sabots through magnetic fields, but there hasn’t been too much actual progress. Well, if you consider the rail guns currently being tested by the navy, that’s actually more along the lines of what I’ve found here, only these babies,” he said as he pried one lid from the topmost crate, “these are closer to Gauss Guns.” He twisted to look at his brother. “I’m sure you’ve read about them.” His face dropped at the look Leonardo was giving him. “Er, maybe not. They’re often featured in science fiction books.” He cleared his throat and carefully replaced the lid. “But what I found most fascinating is the sound fields these create, even at low settings.”

His shell was to Leonardo as he stroked the top of the crate. He spoke more to himself than Leonardo, as he often did when thinking aloud. “My theory is that they’re a prototype of some sort of electromagnetic or possibly extreme focused wave particulate firing . . . no, most likely sound waves –I’m going to have to find a field to test it. Away from the city, of course.“

“Donatello, of all the foolhardy things you’ve done . . .”

Don straightened as he twisted to face Leonardo. He pulled the welding helmet of the top of his head.  He threw it to the table where it clattered and rolled and fell to the floor.

“Foolhardy,” he hissed, insulted. “I’ll have you know that if it wasn’t for my,” he shook his head from side to side with his fists at his hips, mocking Leonardo’s voice, “ _foolhardy_ experiments and inventions that I spend most of my waking hours working on and near all of my sleeping hours, as if you didn’t already know, only to make our subterranean dwellings as comfortable and tolerable as possible, we’d be turtle-sicles with the first hard frost.”

Leonardo did not back down, “Think! There could be tracking mechanisms on these.”

Donatello bristled but then relaxed. He crossed his arms with slow ease and leaned back until his bottom met the desk’s edge. He eyed Leonardo with an air of condescension.  “Please. I checked,” he replied slowly and firmly. He dropped his head and chuckled. “What kind of amateur do you take me for, brother?”

Leonardo huffed and shook his head. “Fine,” he conceded.

But Donatello was not about to let this chastisement and unfair accusation of neglect go unchallenged. “And you’re no one to talk when it comes to doing something foolhardy.”

Leonardo went completely still. His immediate thought was, ‘ _He knows!_ ’ followed by ‘ _Don’t be stupid, there’s no way_ ,’ then, ‘ _oh crap’_ ; all while maintaining an utterly neutral expression.

“Who was the one that went out into the woods only to return with a Foot soldier,” Donatello adjusted his glasses and raised his finger, pointing it up to the ceiling, “and not just any Foot Soldier, mind you, one of their captains. The very same woman who nearly killed you out on the battle field.”

Leonardo’s jaw jumped. “That doesn’t matter.”

Donatello frowned at this unexpected reply. “It doesn’t matter that she almost killed you?” He glanced around from the floor to the walls back to his brother as if looking for an explanation to this preposterous response.

He straightened up as Leonardo stormed from the room without another word. He followed close behind and nearly slammed into his brother’s shell as Leo came to an abrupt stop. He twisted around and Don jumped back. Watching him suspiciously.

“Where is Master Splinter? That’s why I came back here in the first place. What the heck is going on?” He pointed towards the source of the thumping music.

Donatello eyed him and answered, “Splinter told us he was going to be gone for a few hours, most likely the entire night. One of his meditation walks, as far as our younger siblings,” he paused and looked over Leonardo’s shoulder then met his eyes once more. He shrugged. “When the rat’s away . . .”

Leonardo sighed. So, he missed Splinter telling them he was going out. He’d need to think of something to tell his father.

Leo turned but Don knocked one knuckle against his shell, making him look over his shoulder. “So, uh, where were you all evening?”

But to his sibling, he felt he owed no such explanations. “Out.”

He stormed down the passageway. Donatello watched him go, pressing his mouth into a line, going over the conversation in his mind and cataloging his brother’s behavior when he brought up the soldier’s rescue. The change in his demeanor and the way he tried to mask his emotions by giving him that blank look which worked so well with Mikey and Raph, but Donatello could see through almost as well as Master Splinter ever could. It was a low thing to do, in all honesty, bringing up that event. His brother was merely playing the hero. And they had settled that situation weeks ago on the ride home. 

He chewed the inside of his cheek as he moved slowly after his brother. Leo playing hero. It wasn’t unlike him. When they were children he always chose to be the knight that rescued princess Mikey from the Raph-ogre or the Raph-dragon.  He’d always chosen to be the wise wizard instructing the knight on how to go about dispatching the gruesome beast in the most effective and horrible manner.  The beginning of a smile at the fond memory faded, replaced with a grim shadow.

They were no longer children.  And innocent games were a thing of the past. If his guess was correct -and he really hoped, perhaps for the first time in his life, that he was wrong - Leo could be in the middle of a very dangerous game.  With the one cast in the role of damsel in distress happening to be a commander or captain or some type of higher officer in their clan’s enemy forces. He wouldn’t put it past Leonardo to be so naïve. Out of all of them, Donatello frankly felt his older sibling to be far too innocent in some respects to the nature of reality.

He heard Leo’s angry voice tell Michelangelo the party was over and to get busy cleaning the kitchen.  The music cut off and the silence left a ringing in his ears. He moved through the kitchen and peered through the plastic strips into the living room. 

Mikey was grumbling and packing up his records and Leo was standing rigidly in the center of the room, looking towards the exit. Donatello’s eyes followed his glare and he held his breath. April was kissing Raphael goodnight. And not in a peck on the cheek.  His eyes darted from the two entangled in the heated embrace to Leo and wondered how long he’d just stand there and watch.  He expected Leo to clear his throat or shout or order Raph to finish kissing April and sweep the floor, but instead, no instead, Donatello frowned. He stepped back, chewing more upon the tender inner cheek as his mind raced. Leonardo had dropped his head and with a saddened expression had hurried from the scene to his room.

“What are you getting yourself into, Leo?” Donatello wondered aloud just as Mikey burst through the plastic.

“He’s being a party pooper as usual, bro,” Mikey answered him with a grunt. He started grabbing empty bags off the counter and table and shoved them into the waste bin. “Peh, I thought he was going out all night with Splinter.”

Donatello blinked. “Is that what Raph told you?”

“Uh,” Mikey rolled his blood-shot eyes up, thinking hard before dropping them. “I can’t remember. It’s been a long night.”

“You better hope Master Splinter doesn’t find out you were drinking.”

Mikey laughed and brushed his hand through the air. “Nah, it’s fine.”

“You won’t be saying that in the hashi.”

Mikey leveled a look at him. “Bro, I can last longer than any of you chumps in the hashi on any day, with no sleep and my hands tied behind my shell.”

Donatello shook his head in disgust, then he peeked back into the living room, only to duck into the kitchen again. “Eesh, they’ve got to come up for air sometime, or risk damage to brain cells,” Donatello mumbled as he started to help Mikey clean.

“Did Leo seem a bit off, tonight?”

“Yeah, man. He seemed uber pissed. Did you guys have a fight or something? Cuz when he snuck in he was all in stealth mode and buzzing like he was all excited about somethin’.”

Donatello considered this information. “Hmm.”

“Mhmm.” Mikey raised his brows and swept the rest of the crumbs into the waste basket that Donatello held against the edge of the table.

Raphael sauntered into the kitchen. “’Sup?” he asked generally, and grinned wide enough to make Donatello’s face drop in disgust.

He tossed a garbage bag at Raphael’s chest, which he caught with one hand. “You keep grinning like that and your face is going to get stuck that way, you know. It’s a scientific fact.”

Raphael merely smirked at him. “Jealous,” he grunted under his breath and Donatello ignored him, though his face burned.

“You know, you don’t have to rub it in,” Mikey said morosely from the side of the refrigerator where he emerged with the broom.

“What,” Raph asked, arms outstretched, still grinning like an ape.

“Get the bottles out of the living room,” Don barked.

“Yes, mom.”

“Hey,” Donatello called as an afterthought, ignoring the jibe. Raph paused. The look on his face was guarded but relaxed the moment he realized Don was not about to grill him about his relationship with April. “Where did Leo say he was going tonight?”

Raphael frowned, thinking. “He didn’t.”

“But we know he didn’t leave with Splinter.”

Raph and Mikey exchanged glances. “That’s right. Why?”

Donatello felt a flicker of real worry stir in the back of his mind. Pieces were falling into place and the puzzle taking shape was a disturbing omen.  The way Leo had gone all stiff and strained at his mention of the Foot soldier earlier, how his eyes had changed. _It wasn’t because he was angry with me for bringing it up, was it?_ _Oh for Newton’s apple._ Donatello’s heart picked up the pace.  His mouth became cottony and he worked his tongue against the back of his teeth, side to side, side to side, as his mind raced.

Could he have sought her out? Would he be that reckless? _Don’t jump to conclusions. Build a theory and test it. Only then can you discover facts rather than make assumptions._

“It’s nothing.” He looked at Mikey who seemed unsure. “Really, I’m sure he’s just in a bad mood because Splinter isn’t home to give him extra chores.”

Raphael snorted at that and left the room. Mikey continued to look uneasy. Donatello jumped as his youngest brother whistled, low and haunting.

“You can’t fool me, Donnie. Somethin’s up, ain’t it, bro? I can feel the negative vibes.”

He shuddered melodramatically and Donatello, had he not been feeling the exact same uneasiness would have scoffed at him, but remained still.

“Bad mojo, Donnie. Me no likey.”

“Me no likey either,” Donatello mumbled without realizing it.

And Michelangelo moved to stand next to him where both boys stared through the plastic curtain to their older brother’s bedroom door.


	5. The Waiting is the Hardest Part

**Chapter 5 - The Waiting is the Hardest Part**

* * *

The weeks passed and Karai's injuries healed. She spent her time between the agonizing boredom of awaiting instructions from her father and thinking about her encounter with the mutant named Leonardo. When the thoughts ran in never-ending circles, leaving her frustrated and irritable, she turned her focus to rehabilitating her weakened body, molding it back into the hard planes of toned, but limber muscles.

Each day dragged with tedious routine as she found herself trapped at her sparsely furnished apartment. Unable to stray further than the surrounding neighborhood. Stuck. Awaiting word from him. The furniture within used more now in these past few weeks than in the prior year and a half that she'd been there. All of it had been there when she moved in. Including the paintings on the walls. She owned little. Took no stock in sentimental possessions. She had only what she needed and not much else. She had to be ready to take up and leave at a moment's notice should her father command it. Her life hung by the threads that he alone mastered. Though she sometimes resented it, she was resigned. It had always been that way.

Karai ran a towel over her face, damp from her workout with the heavy bag in the far corner of her living room where several weapons hung from a display rack on the wall. She moved through her apartment with light footsteps and thrumming muscles, spent from the exertion. The afternoon light glowed a burnished gold glinting through the dining room windows, alighting the stainless steel appliances in the kitchen with a bright, clinical illumination. She tipped her head to one side, stretching, and then the other as she slid the cellphone towards herself. She threw the towel over one shoulder and tapped the screen with her fingertip. Searching. Nothing.

"Dammit," she muttered and flung the towel to the table. She marched from the dining room down the hall to take a shower.

No word from her father since her discharge from the hospital weeks ago when he told her to do nothing and go nowhere until she heard from him again. To stay ready but remain out of the public eye. He hadn't visited since the first time he'd come to interrogate her on how she'd managed to survive the attack at the compound. Part of her was grateful for the space from him, another part nagged and worried.

_Where are you, father? What is the Foot Clan's next move?_

She twisted the knobs for the shower in the spacious bathroom. The water spurted clear and steaming as she undressed. The sound of it, soothing. Calming. Her mind wandered.

Not for the first time, Karai wished for a different life. Out from beneath the shadow of her father and the pressure of his demands. She was intelligent and capable. In some other skin she could've been any number of things, but any of which she knew she'd be successful. Her drive, her competitive nature and her commitment to finishing what she started were all markers of those considered champions. Every task assigned to her she fulfilled to the full extent of her abilities. She gave everything she had. When she ran the finances of the Foot Clan, when she located safe houses for members of their organization, when she trained, fought, when she spilled her own blood . . . or took the lives of others.

Karai closed her eyes. She took a deep breath. Exhaled. Another. She pulled the tank top over her head and tossed it to the floor. She stared at the lump of black clothing, saw the man's face in the fog. She blinked hard and it was gone. His face came to mind. The mutant. His storming eyes full of the horror of what she'd done. The revulsion at her actions. Her breath hitched in her throat and she coughed. She pushed away at the nagging feeling that too closely resembled something like guilt. Replaced it with something more comfortable: anger.

Who was he to judge her? He was nothing but a monster. A yokai, a demon. An impossibility in the flesh. Flesh that was hardened and carved of graceful beauty; strange and compelling; mesmerizing with those ice-blue eyes. His voice, deep and low and full, rose in her mind,  _'One who sees no true cause for hostility between us'_. As if somehow understanding what she struggled with; already knowing her position, reading through the surface circumstance to see the truth. She could do nothing but obey orders. A soft frown puckered her brows; pondering.

Karai shook her head, rousing herself. No. That didn't matter. That soldier was nothing. And like him, she was a soldier; with full understanding of the dangers inherent in the clan; all lives were expendable. Even hers, the Shredder's daughter. So, she did what she could and that was to do her best. Did what shewas told to do without hesitation. Without question. Always. She was Foot and she was loyal. To her father and whatever cause he chose.

But, a traitorous thought slipped through the cracks: she could be more . . . no, she  _was_  more than that. So much more. She could be great. If he'd just give her the opportunity. She shimmied out of the leggings and balled them up; tossing them on top of the other clothing in a pile on the floor. Her mind raced.

She could take the Foot Clan into profitable directions. No more in-fighting and feuds between clashing clans. The Foot Clan could truly rise above the petty squabbles of a system that was outdated and archaic. Actually be part of the global restructuring of power that was happening all around them. Instead of hiding in the shadows, they could truly become powerful. The Foot Clan could ascend; become leaders instead of rumors and idle threats that some groups found more ridiculous than dangerous.

Her shoulders slumped. But he would not listen. Not to her. She was daughter. A failure upon birth.

"That is all I am to you, father? A failure?" she murmured with her head to one side, staring at the floor.

Her hands balled into fists. The old fury rose and she slammed the sides of her fists onto the sink. Partially formed thoughts of rebellion, sabotage, assassination, floated to the surface of her mind only to drain away. She dropped her head.

"Who am I kidding? I am no match for him."

There was no point in even entertaining the thought of defiance. Looking up, she caught her reflection in the slowly fogging mirror. She leaned forward. Gingerly, she brushed her thick bangs to one side, examining the long jagged scar that ran just along the hairline from the mid-point of her forehead to her right temple.

It was an old scar. A permanent reminder. To defy the Shredder was to forfeit your life.

No matter your devotion and servitude to the man. No matter that she was his flesh and blood. No matter that she was only a hot-headed teen when she stood up to him that single time. Seventeen and so foolish; angry that she'd been passed over once again for promotion within the clan. He did not care for her intentions. It mattered not what she was trying to show him. That she was only trying to prove herself a match to any man in his organization. That as his daughter, his blood was her blood, and she was strong and skilled and intelligent. That to overlook her meant a loss to the Foot Clan. His loss. His disgrace.

But she'd gone too far. And nearly died as a result. She wondered sometimes, still, in the long sleepless nights that left her hollow and lonely, if her surviving the blow had been a subject of begrudging pride or disappointment for him.

Her arm dropped, the bangs fell into place once more, and she gazed steadily into her dark green eyes. Feeling the shame for the tears that welled. Feeling the duplicity of wanting the man to die and loving him as only a child can love a parent. That tenuous bond which can never truly be rent; not completely. She remained his daughter. He, her parent.

She was trapped. And that thought alone was enough to make Karai's breath pant shallow and quick through her gritted teeth. Her spirit raged against the notion. Burning too bright within the confines of her flesh; the idea of being caged and caught made her want to tear at her hair and scream. The fleeting thought of disappearing danced along the edges of her reason, then. Her eyes darted to one side. Her lips pressed together. But . . . Where? Where could she ever go, where his men could not find her?

Her stomach twisted and her jaw clenched. She swiped at the moisture on the mirror, built by the steam from the shower.

"Enough," she snarled at herself. "You're being foolish!"

It was pointless to wish for things that were impossible. She was no longer a girl. Hadn't been for a long while. The time for dreams was over. She would face reality and live the life given to her. She would serve as she only knew how. With all her heart and devotion. This was her lot and she would accept it with grace. What else could she do?

"What else . . ." she murmured and pulled the sports bra off and slipped from the lace panties.

As she stepped into the heated spray of water, firing her bare flesh in pleasantly stinging drops, the errant image of Leonardo came into her mind's eye. The rose. He'd brought her a rose. A smile, unbidden, played along her lips. The water drummed against her, tingling. She'd given him her address on the thin hope of seeing him again. He was obviously interested in her, for whatever reason. She thought again of the rose. The smile widened.

"What a fool," she said, but there was a titter at the edges of her words, a flutter in her chest. A strange sense of defiance twined by pleasure.

In all honesty, she knew he'd never actually act on her invitation. In her boldness at that instant when she offered to spar with him, she didn't consider that he'd most likely count it as a trap and never dare come near the address she'd given him. But of course he would. She was the enemy. His enemy.

His words came to her again:  _'One who sees no true cause for hostility between us'_.

Her smile died away. For now it was she who was being the fool. She blinked in the misting water. Just what was she entertaining here? Where were these thoughts leading? Though she sought for answers within herself, there were none to be found. And it was for the best that she let any of these curious feelings fade away. Much as he did that night. It was probably the last that she'd see of the strange, elegant mutant.

"He is gone. And it's for the best."

Still, disappointment stung her. She huffed. She turned her back to the water and raised her head, feeling the surge of water drench her and wash away her coherent thoughts; leaving her lost in the rushing, muffled sound and bubbling darkness beneath the water. Her mind wandered across a blank expanse as the water ran over her head, shoulders, back and breasts, trailing over her toned thighs to pool at her feet.

From the darkness of her mind, he emerged as he did on the roof. Out from the shadows, standing in the rain. And the smoky blue of his intense eyes stood out, burning like a demon's, full of something she could not name; evoking an emotion within her that she would dare  _not_  name; the softness of his voice, with the promise of curiosity satisfied, of something deeper, more sensuous than simple curiosity drawing her; luring her towards him. Like the Kawataro from the books of Suijin she'd read as a young teen. Those unearthly creatures resembling Kappa that tempted human women to their shores so that they may take them as their own and impregnate them. And there was a connection, wasn't there? She could not deny it.

Standing there, summoned, compelled by him, she felt a different person. Alive and real. For the first time in longer than she could remember. She luxuriated in the remembered emotions that his presence brought out within herself, allowing herself to sink into that mad dream. For now. In this moment, she took it; owned it. It was hers alone and she would not fear or regret that there was a strange feeling of peace within it – beneath it, the spurring of something sharp-edged and tantalizing, also. The draw of danger that ever tempted her to play with fire. And blue flames burned fiercely.

# # #

Outside the apartment, on an adjacent building, a lone figure with a racing heart and sweating palms paced just behind the tall, iron-scrolled topped parapet, debating as he had for the past two hours whether he should flee and return home in defeat with his honor intact or face his fears and meet again with the woman who'd been stalking his dreams for the past few weeks.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: NaNoWriMo is DONE! So, I'll be dedicating some time where I can to writing my TMNT ff once again! Yay! Thanks for being patient, dear readers! You guys rock!
> 
> Lots of introspection in this chapter, but more action in the next - the fun kind, new and improved: now with extra flirting! XD


	6. Near Miss

**Chapter 6 - Near Miss**

* * *

She drew the silken robe across her back, belted it and began to work her fingers through damp hair when the sharp sound of tapping caught her ear. She frowned, turning her cocked head towards the source. Listening. Pondering the noise. It came again, though this time fewer raps. She stepped from the bathroom and padded down the hallway, head tilted. She glanced to the living room where double doors opened to a wide balcony. It wasn't raining outside, then what? She froze.

A shadow loomed just beyond the glass. Her heart quickened. And before she knew what she was doing, Karai was before the door, unlatching the lock and pulling it open.

He stood for a moment, looking caught and unsure. His eyes swept her over with a startled expression on his face. As if he'd not expected anyone to actually answer. His gaze lingered across her midsection before dropping away. He composed himself with a short clearing of his throat. To her surprise, as he glanced up again, a wry smile spread across his lips.

"It's been some time," he said nonchalantly. "Feeling up for that sparring match?"

His voice was rich; inviting. It took some effort, but she matched his relaxed, coy, body language and with a tip of her head, gave a nod. "I'm always up for a fight," she replied. She took a half-step back. "Would you like to come in?"

Leonardo leaned forward, casting his gaze about before he leaned back into the dusky twilight. "That's not a dojo."

She stifled the incredulous noise that rose from the back of her throat. "Uh, no. It's not. You sound disappointed. Did you expect that I lived in a gym?"

He sputtered, clarifying, "N-No, I meant, that, uh, there's not enough, er, room, to maneuver effectively. To stretch, or-or, spar," he finished lamely. He nodded and gave the room another cursory glance as though judging it unfit to his standards.

She twisted and looked around. "It serves. Besides, it depends on what kind of maneuvering you are speaking of," she said. "Of course you can't see from the window, but there's heavier equipment," she counted off on her fingers, gazing up at the ceiling, "belts, chains, gags, and more specialized, uhm,  _things_  in my bedroom," she teased, narrowing her eyes and staring straight into his, "but those things are for a different type of sparring."

His eyes widened and his throat bobbed. She fought the chuckle that rose up at his expression, beating it back to remain straight-faced and serious. He coughed and his cheeks flushed darkly. He glanced around, everywhere but at her, suddenly very interested in the casement of her French doors. She noted the pearl of sweat as it slid down the side of his throat where his flashing pulse was visible.

She decided to rescue him from his obvious distress, lest she burst out laughing and ruin the fun. As she spoke again he started. She bit the inside of her cheek, hard, to keep under control. "I'll be on the roof in a moment."

His attention snapped back to her, unable to help it, he glanced at her robe, taking in the silken curves, feeling his mouth go dry. He caught himself and asked the ground, "Do you have weapons?"

Karai laughed outright, unable to keep control. His face darted up.

"What a question to ask of me, Leonardo. I am kunoichi, as you are about to learn. I am always armed."

He grinned at the sound of his name in her mouth. Deciding that he liked that very much. He put his fist to one palm and bowed. "Forgive my foolish question."

She pointed to the roof as he straightened. "Five minutes."

He nodded.

She closed the doors with a gentle snap and fled back to her room after his shadow leapt from the balcony. Feeling giddy as her bare toes brushed the carpet as she hurried. Any lingering melancholy that had plagued her mind earlier vanished, replaced with something Karai was not familiar with in the least: Happiness.

# # #

He turned at the sound of the roof access door opening, bracing for cover in case it wasn't Karai. Immediately, he relaxed when he saw her. Her hair was swept back and up in a high pony-tail. She wore a form-fitting dark suit and slippers in the same charcoal black color. In her hands were two short swords, the tips pointed downwards. She tossed one to him. He caught it and spun it. He moved to match her circling stance before coming to a stop. They bowed to one another and then began.

The blades flashed as they swung around and behind the two. Clinking and clanging like chimes rocked by the teasing ocean wind. Their feet slipped as though beneath them was not a concrete roof, but smooth ice.

Neither spoke. Their blades broke the silence as their limbs flowed through the night air without a sound. Leo exercised his most practiced and most complicated katas that he could think of and from the light in Karai's eyes, he guessed she was impressed. He tried another, but her heel came out of nowhere, sweeping inches from his face and he was forced on the defensive, cursing himself for losing focus as he tried to show off to the woman.

She coiled and struck, snake-like in her movements at times and it was not unattractive. If anything, her sleek form, toned and athletic, beneath the thin, skin-tight suit only served to make his heart thump and race. Though there was no other time that Leonardo was more attuned and single-minded than when he practiced or sparred with his brothers, however, Leo found himself distracted again and again by the grace of Karai's movements. By the valleys and curves, mysterious and alluring, of her body. Every step and block, every sweep and strike held a natural beauty that worked to mesmerize him, distracting and throwing him off balance.

He stumbled a bit to one side as he deflected another blow. A smirk spread across her face and he felt the back of his neck heat with embarrassment. He did not want to look like a fool or some inexperienced boy. He gave himself a mental shake and redoubled his efforts to focus on his form as he went on the offensive.

Leonardo swung high. He was taller, and had longer limbs. Stronger, by far, but Karai was like living silk. Dodging everything fluidly, effortlessly. She seemed to guess every maneuver seconds before he executed. She wove back and under, to one side and then the other as he came forward, fast and slow, wide and short. Each time getting closer to her. But never making contact but for the blades themselves. And they sang until; finally, both eased back and seemed to understand at once that a breather was necessary. In the distance, a church bell tolled the early morning hours.

Leonardo shifted his weight to his heels and squatted, examining the blade in his grip before glancing up at her; admiring the flushed, fierce, wind-blown look she sported from her exertion. He smiled softly, panting lightly between his lips. But his breath caught in his throat. Her luminous eyes glinted in the low light. She held an intense expression on her face that he couldn't quite discern. But it was doing things to him. Watching her stare at him that way. With a hunger that he did not know the name of, but felt just as keenly. He felt his warm blood heat further. A taunt thread within him, somewhere, plucked and reverberated through his entire body; stirring his desire.

"Not bad," she said with a half-smile. "For a mutant turtle."

Her voice sounded husky to his ears, pricking them to attention. It felt as though his entire body thrummed with the sound of it. Tightening and ready to spring at her slightest beckoning. Whatever she wanted, he would do; despite her teasing him. He didn't care. He wanted to . . . he-he would . . . Leonardo blinked.

He looked away, studying the far side of the roof line, the uneven rows of the surrounding apartments, gray in the shadows just before dawn. Muted as if still caught between dreaming and wakefulness. In between and lost, blurred at the edges. Just as he felt. Unable to process what he was feeling under the intensive scrutiny of her wild gaze, feeling it boring into him; compelling him to act; but to do what? He didn't know. He felt the need to run, building in his trembling thighs like wasted energy pooling and threatening to overload. But whether it was towards her or from her he wasn't sure. Confusion muddled his thinking. He needed to catch his breath, to understand what she was doing to him. To regain control of the situation. To figure out a plan. A plan! That's all he needed, he decided, feeling a bit of relief cool his fevered mind.

He saw movement from the corner of his eye. He shifted and stood up abruptly as she approached, feeling a surge of irrational panic. She stopped when she was standing before him, close. Very close. Close enough to touch. And he realized that he wanted to touch her. To feel the heat of her skin, to test and brush her face and neck, to press against her pulse with his fingertips to see if she felt it, too. The rush, the exhilaration, the excitement, the desire. To run his hands over the planes of her body. To explore and discover her and make her his own.

He blinked at the heated thought and immediately swept his eyes away. What was he thinking? He was being presumptuous. And rude. He stepped back. His chest heaved, but he composed himself, masking his torment; hiding his yearning and chagrin. He bowed to her and presented her sword back.

"Thank you, Karai," his voice was steady despite his racing heart thundering in his ears.

She cocked a brow and took the proffered weapon. "For what?" she asked.

"For allowing me to have this experience with you. I hope I lived up to your expectations. But now . . ."

"You're leaving?" she asked, somewhat incredulously, as he straightened up and cast around as though at a loss for what next to do. He seemed distracted; his cheeks reddened and his eyes bright and troubled. He looked startled, as if she'd caught him doing something he was not proud of.

"I have to go," he answered quietly. "Thank you again," he said as he backed up, bowing again. "It was an honor."

"But we've only just started," she said as she reached out to take him by the hand. He stiffened as her fingers brushed the hardened musculature of his forearm. He froze, a look like something between terror and hope raced across his face before he controlled it, reverting to a polite, blank expression. She wondered what she'd done to spook him in such a way. "Leonardo," she said, doing her best to sound inviting. "Why not come inside and . . ." she trailed off, a frown puckered her brows as he shook his head. She collected herself then and straightened up, pulling away as she released his arm.

He'd offended her, he was sure. But how, he was not. "I didn't mean," he started. "I mean, I would love to, b-but I have to go."

"Go," she snapped, not looking at him. She brushed her hand through the air and stormed off towards the roof access shed.

"Karai," he called, voice soft, and yet, commanding.

She ignored him. Yanking open the door, however, she paused and glanced over one shoulder. "What."

"Can we do this again, sometime?" he asked, though why he'd thought she'd agree, he had no idea. She was obviously done with him. No doubt, offended or perhaps disgusted by something he'd done. Or maybe she'd realized that he was not worthy of her skill and attention. His heart was in his throat as he waited for her reply.

"I am free two nights from now." She was not looking at him as she spoke. And then disappeared behind the door before he could thank her or bow or say anything at all.

He fought the urge to throw a punch into the air, giddy with her answer. Two nights. He would see her again in two nights. Maybe this time they'd talk. He froze, mid-step, half-way over the concrete parapet. What would they talk about? He brushed off his unease. He'd think of something. He leapt to the nearest building and then scaled the fire escape to the alley below. He darted in and out of the shadows while his expression remained dreamy, smiling like a fool.

He never saw the sniper raise his weapon. He felt a prick at the side of his neck before the impact of the dart brought him down to one knee. He hissed in pain. Shaking his head as the world tipped and blurred.

 _Stupid_ , he thought as he fell forward as he climbed to stand on legs that felt like rubber. There was a scuffling sound. A grunt and a crashing of garbage cans. He spun to defend himself, but it was only the world around him spinning. He remained in the pile of garbage that he'd fallen into. Someone fell upon his shell. He started and swore. He fought weakly with them before he was taken by the shoulders and shaken violently. His teeth chattered in his skull and his eyes rolled. His vision smeared and faded before it cleared somewhat. Enough to see who had him.

Golden-green eyes met his and a familiar voice snarled in his ear, "Knock it off, will ya?! What the fuck do you think you're doin', Fearless?"

"Raph?" he sputtered, blinking hard and rapidly, trying to clear his sight, but everything continued to blur and smear together. "Raph?" he asked again, stupidly.

"You're going to give him a concussion," Donatello's voice came to him then, but he couldn't see his brother. "Stop shaking him like that."

"Don?" he asked, but it came out an incomprehensible, garbled groan.

"Let's get him home so I can get his system cleared of whatever they shot him with."

He vaguely felt the world spin and shift as he was hoisted up over Raphael's shoulders. He struggled a bit, feeling embarrassed and angry that they found him in this state. That he had to be carried home and not because of a mortal wound, but because he'd been in a love-sick daze as he headed home. They'd never let him live it down. And what would he say to Splinter?

Then his face crushed into a frown.

Wait.

_How did they know where I was?_

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to thank you all for your patience. I've got a lot of stuff taking up my free time atm, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I'll be able to find time to get these updates out to you. I haven't forgotten about any of my stories and am committed to finishing...just not as quickly as I have in the past, I'm afraid. :P
> 
> Anyway, don't forget that the StealthyStories 2014 FanFiction Competition has BEGUN! If you go to the website - there's a link on my profile and on my DA account - you can find all the details and the rules and timelines and such. Right now is the time to gather stories you'd like to nominate and I believe, February 3rd is when they are accepting nominations - so check it out and join in! You don't have to be a writer to participate and you don't have to be a member to do so, either. But we'd love to have ya!


	7. Secrets End

She stepped off the last stair and paused, gazing around slightly lost, before she realized that she'd been in a daze. Her mind had been replaying the hours spent on the roof with Leonardo. Lingering over the details. Unable to stop thinking about his movements, the skill he possessed; his body.

The graceful swing of the mutant's toned arms. The tensing muscles of his calves and thighs as he turned. The sword play so perfectly executed. The focus and control of his movements.

More than any of that, however, her mind continued to loop back to the sight of his eyes behind the blue of his mask. The light in his eyes as he watched her with a studied intensity; as if she alone were the world and all the mysteries contained within it. A ghost of a smile passed over her lips. His disconcerting and yet, somehow, impossibly beautiful eyes – she couldn't stop wondering what he was thinking as they sparred.

Though, she believed she had a guess.

A shiver of delight passed over her; unexamined and free of self-recrimination. And she tipped her head to one side, as she did when just a girl discovering something unique and rare in the dull gray monotony which made up her childhood. Thinking still about him. Pondering.

His existence was an enigma, a miracle of fringe science and perhaps something else. She wasn't sure. She didn't care. She wanted to know more about him, though. That was certain.

Two nights from now they'd meet again. She could ask him about himself and his life. Have him all to herself. Karai's heart skipped and tumbled. A real smile tipped the corners of her mouth up. Two nights. If only he hadn't left. Her mind was suddenly full of questions; her heart full of yearning. She'd have to be patient.

And careful.

She took a step into the private hallway. Heading towards the apartment her father had secured for her. To be close to their New York headquarters and ever near should he need her at short notice. Her footsteps faltered. A shadow passed over her thoughts. Tainting the rare moment of carefree contentment.

She frowned. Feeling suddenly the presence of eyes on her back. The hair on the back of her neck prickled.

She glanced over her shoulder despite knowing the hallway was deserted. She turned in a slow circle as she continued the short distance towards her door. The soft  _slip-shuff_  sound of her slippers against the berber rug the only sound, and yet, there was something -  _off_.

The air around her stretched out, strangely taunt, electric with a sense of breath held, but empty and still. The distant hum of the elevator descending was the only disruption to the quiet.

Karai's head ducked. Shoulders dropped.  _What am I doing?_  She ran her free hand through her hair. Was she getting paranoid? The thought made her want to laugh. But it died at the back of her throat as she reconsidered her predicament.

She shouldn't have invited Leonardo here. She shouldn't have sparred with him on the roof. Her mouth soured and she swore under her breath in Japanese. It was stupid. They could have been seen. Easily, should someone have been watching.  _But why would they be watching me?_

She thought of his visit while she was at the hospital recuperating. Her father's interest in how she managed to get back to Sacks' compound in the condition she was found in. His curiosity seemed unusually focused on that detail; as opposed to her health and general well-fare. Almost as if he suspected her of being rescued, but was not entirely convinced. Had she given him reason to doubt?

Then she remembered Leonardo's visit – the rose he'd given her. The one currently pressed between the pages of a thick book of poetry beneath her bed. There had been guards posted to protect and keep her safe. The Foot Clan had many enemies. Known and unknown. And yet, now she questioned it all.

"Safe," she huffed with a sardonic smile. "More like, under surveillance."

She closed her eyes. What sort of game did she think this was? Playing with the mutant that her father was at this moment scouring every inch of the city to find a trace of . . . If he had found out about this interaction with Leonardo . . . What would he do? Her face darkened. The familiar ache of betrayal and hurt squeezed her chest.

_What wouldn't he do?_

"He won't," she told herself firmly. "There's no way he knows."

Giving herself a mental shake, clearing her mind as much as was possible, she stood before the door to her apartment. She glanced down at the twin practice swords in her hands. Her reflection caught in the blade. She stared into the eyes full of confusion, longing and fear. Her mouth grew dry.

Was she really willing to risk her life for . . . what? What was this? A game? And what about her loyalty to the clan that sheltered her? The organization that she'd known her entire life, sworn fealty to and accepted as the only way? The activities of the past few hours could easily be seen as traitorous to her clan, her father, her life. She endangered everything secure in her life – for what?

_What am I_ _**doing** _ _?_

Leonardo's face rose up in her mind. The odd mix of boyish playfulness and formality he switched between when they were together as though he couldn't make up his mind about how to behave around her. He was at turns fierce and formidable, yet . . . strangely innocent and vulnerable. The thought made her stomach flutter.

She wanted to see him again. She pressed her lips into a firm line. Her life would not be dictated by fear. Her life was her own. Her own!

A slippery thought wove through the back of her rebellious thoughts, tainted with self-doubt:  _And what if the boy decides that you are unworthy . . . the terrible things you have done . . . the wicked path you have traveled upon . . . What then?_

_You will have nothing. Be nothing._

Her eyelids fluttered. Her heart stumbled. She chewed on her bottom lip, an old habit of her teen years; something she hadn't done since the turmoil of her adolescence.

Again her mind circled back to the mutant. The strange and compelling Leonardo. The most rare and wondrous opportunity of her life. There was nothing in all the world that compared to him. And he wished to be comrades . . . friends.

_And what else I wonder?_

Now there was an interesting thought. Her body warmed. Her cheeks flushed as she recalled the way he appraised her at the window before catching himself. The hungry look in his eyes on the roof as they sparred.

There was an expression she could not mistake. She smirked. All males were the same when it came to lust. And yet, Leonardo was different from the others in her past. And it wasn't simply because he was a mutant. It was something deeper than his form. He seemed soulful and authentic. Honorable. And it was what made him different that caught and held her attention.

She imagined peeling away his gear, his wrappings, and mask. Peeling away his defenses one by one. A challenge to be sure, but one she was more than up for. Her heart fluttered.

She composed herself; shaking her head and banishing the ridiculous notion from her heated mind. A trick of hormones – the rush from having a decent sparring partner for a change – nothing more. Besides, romance was not what this was about. The chance to seize what her heart wished for was at stake, and for once – for once – she would not back down. She would reach for it with both hands and take what she wanted. She could not turn her back on this, even if the entire world was against it.

Dilemma settled for now, she dropped her arms and twisted the doorknob to her home.

Brushing into the dark entranceway, she stopped short.

The rumbling gravel of his whisper-thin voice rose from the surrounding darkness, "At last you join us, Daughter."

# # #

Raphael dumped Leo unceremoniously onto the couch with a grunt. He flopped in a heap; one arm slung over his face, one leg hung over the edge of the cushions, foot askew.

Donatello hurried past towards the kitchen. He glanced at Leo and said to Raph, "Get his arm off his face before he suffocates himself."

Raph huffed. A grin spreading across his face. "Wouldn't want our fearless leader goin' out so disgracefully." He slapped Leo's arm, removing it from his brother's face. Then leaned in and cracked Leonardo across the cheek.

Leo's head jerked to one side. He squirmed and frowned, but fell still again. His breathing even.

Donatello approached with a tray full of medical supplies. He rounded the couch. "Let's have a look."

Raph eased back to give his brother room, eyeing the syringe with measured caution as if afraid that it might leap up from the tray and attack him.

Donatello pressed his finger to Leonardo's chin, turning his head aside. Checked the sight of the dart's puncture. The projectile had fallen off at some point and he cursed internally for not thinking to search for it when they'd intercepted Leo's attack. He could've much more easily figured out what they'd given his brother if he had an actual sample.

The wound had congealed to a small red knob with a raised welt and dark bruising around the circumference. He set to checking Leo's vitals, muttering to himself as he noted numbers on a page of paper attached to a clipboard. "Heart rate a little inconsistent, light perspiration, no signs of contusions from his tumble."

Raphael kept his distance, but in time, more and more curious, he hovered over Donatello's shoulder. Donatello cringed at the feel of his brother's breath on the back of his neck. He ducked his head and glared over his shoulder, syringe in hand.

"You wanna give me a little room to work here?"

Raph gave him a sidelong squint. He turned his attention to the needle in Don's hand. Nodding his chin towards it, he said, "You gonna stick 'em?"

"I'm going to extract a little blood to test, yes. I have to make sure this was just tranquilizer they shot him with and nothing more."

Raphael crossed his arms and leaned his body back to sit on the edge of the coffee table set before the couch. He glanced around, keeping his gaze from the needle. When he thought it was safe to look, he turned his face back to Donatello. "So when ya gonna tell me what's going on?"

Donatello gave him a furtive peep over his shoulder as he set the syringe full of dark red blood onto the tray and placed a bandage on his brother's arm. He sat back on his heels and raised up. Moving towards the lab, Raph followed.

"Keep your voice down," Donatello said over his shoulder.

"Splinter's already up," Raph replied. "Unless you're worried about wakin' Mikey."

Donatello hesitated and Raph shot him a knowing look as his face swiveled towards the dojo. He sighed. "Terrific."

Raphael followed him into his lab. The door clicked shut behind him. The room was cluttered with piles of electronic equipment, several computers in different stages of disassembly and repair, their toaster sat next to a blender and two boom boxes. Something large sat in one corner next to the worktable Donatello approached. It was covered with a heavy canvas tarp.

"I wanted to believe that I was overreacting." He shook his head, continuing on, more to himself than to his brother, "Perhaps placing too much weight on unverified conjecture. Always best to consider all the facts. Making assumptions serves no purpose other than to aggravate paranoia and reinforce erratum." Donatello set the tray down and picked up the syringe. He stared at it for a moment and then set to pushing the plunger, depositing a pearl of the blood on several slides.

Raphael ran a hand over his face. "Christ, get to the point," he muttered.

He stepped forward, kicking a large screw driver out of his way. It spun in a slow circle until it hit one rusted toolbox. Raphael scowled at the mess, wondering how the hell his brainy brother got any work done in this clutter. He wasn't a neat-freak like Leo, but this was chaos.

"You know," Raphael went on, "I'd be sorry I even asked," he said as he jabbed one thumb over his shoulder to the door, "except Sleeping Beauty out there snuck outta the lair to skip over to a part of the city we normally avoid and got himself darted and nearly bagged. You knew where he was goin' and somethin' tells me you know why. Just tell me, what the hell is going on with him?"

Donatello nodded absentmindedly. "Fair representation of what occurred," he mumbled.

Raph crowded up on him. "Answer my question. Now. In English."

Donnie sighed, eyeing Raph, his chocolate irises bouncing between his brother's green-gold. "Don't overreact."

"Spill."

Donatello turned to face him. He raised one hand, the other arm wrapped around his torso as he explained, "I fear, before it was merely a hunch, a theory, if you will, but given the events of tonight," he shrugged, trailing off, dropping his arms with a shake of his head.

Raphael stared at him.

He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses as he went on. "Now I'm quite certain, that Leonardo has gotten himself embroiled in a rather foolhardy and dangerous love affair with a soldier, based on the evidence of her actions, most likely one in a role of commander, or mistress, that's probably what they'd refer to her if I'm not mistaken. Though it would depend on the hierarchal structure of the Foot Clan. Of which I am not informed."

Raphael's face went from baffled concentration to looking lost, to outright shock throughout his brother's babbling. His face mottled; eyes grew to circles and then his brows came down in a deep frown. He pinched the bridge between his nose and closed eyes. He patted the air with one hand. "Wait, wait, wait. Slow the fuck down. What did you say?"

"I am unaware of the structural hierarchy of leadership within the Foot Clan?"

Raphael waved his hands in the air, "No, not that! At the end, b-before the end . . . about the, uh, L-Love affair!?" he sputtered with a disbelieving expression.

"Ah, Yes. A love affair. I believe that is the case, yes."

Raph slammed both hands down onto the worktable. Papers shifted, the microscope tottered. Glass tubes jumped and rattled. One rolled over the side and Donatello caught it in a sloppy grope. "Raphael! Please! These aren't toys! Not to mention they are near impossible to replace!"

Raphael swore and rubbed his hands over his face.

"This is exactly the type of response I expected from you which is why I was hesitant to include you on my guesswork until I had no other choice."

Raphael marched forward, then spun on his heel. "Is this right? Are you – Are you sure?" he asked, close enough for Donatello to wince at his breath. He raised his arm and dropped it. "Maybe . . . Maybe he was there 'cuz of some-some other reason."

Donatello's shoulders slumped. "Well, I'm open to reasonable justification, Raphael. But, the woman in question, here. See for yourself."

He set the glass tube down and scooted around his brother to the desk against the wall where his computer sat. He slumped into the chair, clicked the keys and the monitor blinked and lit up. It displayed a map. Raphael loomed over his shoulder, leaning in to squint at the screen.

"Her apartment is located only a block from where he was attacked. Most likely, he had gone there, and was heading home and didn't realize he was being followed."

Raphael mulled it over. "So she lured him to her place to trap him. Fuckin' Leo. What the hell was he thinking?"

Donnie's eyes rolled to the ceiling and he worked his lips, nibbling on them before he said, "That's certainly one possibility."

"Whatdaya mean? What else would it be?"

Donatello cough lightly into one fist. "As naïve as Leonardo tends to be, I don't think he'd pursue a, er, woman, unless he found some, uh, incentive."

Raphael stared at him. "Right. She tricked him to get him there so her men could jump him when he was distracted."

Donnie tipped his head to one side and gave a brief nod. "Yes, except."

Raphael's eyes narrowed. "Except?"

"I have reason to believe that Leonardo had been seeing her. Conversing with her and developing somewhat of a relationship of some sort with her before the events of tonight."

Raphael glowered, face growing darker by the second. "Yeah, well, that only proves one thing," he said.

Donatello raised his eyes, questioningly.

"That Leo's a dumbass."

"Regardless, we have a situation which is delicate that needs to be handled. And I'm not sure how to move forward. Usually, it's Leonardo who I'd be consulting, but needless to say, he's not in a position to offer clear-minded advice."

"He ain't but I know someone who is." Raphael turned and stormed to the doorway.

Donatello rushed over and grabbed his shoulder as he yanked open the door. "Wait, Raphael. I don't think getting Splinter involved in this is advisable."

"Why not?" he growled, peering over his shoulder at his brother.

"Think about it. Leonardo, out of us all, has always been," he paused as he searched for the right word, "obedient. To a fault," he amended. "This is unusual behavior for someone so . . ."

"Bent outta shape tryin' to be perfect?" Raphael offered. "Well, too bad. If he's sneakin' out for a booty call with the enemy and too stupid to realize that he's puttin' himself and all of us in danger, then Splinter needs to know about it and make him stop." He opened the door wider and Donatello stopped it with his fist. Raphael glared at him, a growl rolling from the back of his throat.

"That's just it," he hissed. "Splinter forbidding the behavior may only serve to induce more erractic and defiant responses from Leonardo and thus leading to more potential for disaster."

Raphael shifted from one foot to the other, bracing himself until the door slammed open. Donatello stepped back.

"Raph, please listen to me. We need to keep what we know to ourselves and talk to Leonardo about the risks he's taking. The more logical and level-headed we can be about this, the better our chances."

"I dunno why you're tryin' ta protect him, but one thing I do know," Raphael sneered in Donatello's face, "You ain't gonna stop me from telling Sensei."

He moved to leave when Donatello said quietly, "This isn't about evening the score, you know."

Raphael paused and wheeled around. His face a mask of fury. He jabbed his finger into Donatello's chest. "Fuck off, Don." With that, he lumbered into the living room.

Donatello waffled, then went after him.

"Your rivalry with Leonardo has nothing to do with this, Raph. We're talking about his safety. We're talking about our family's safety. This isn't about scoring points or who's knocking whom off the favoritism pedestal –" Donatello broke off as he nearly rammed into Raphael. He backpedaled and fixed his glasses. Moving around his brother, his gaze snapped from Raphael's face to what he was looking at.

Splinter rose up from the couch, his hand removing from Leonardo's forehead. "Leonardo will not awaken," he said, voice tremulous with fear and worry. "What has happened to him?"

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad I managed an update! I hope you liked this chapter - I really love Donatello and Raphael's dynamic - they're so different and fun to juxtapose!
> 
> Don't forget to send in your nominations for the 2014 StealthyStories Competition! A link to the website can be found on my profile at FFN!


	8. Metamorphosis

 

Raphael peered at Donatello from the corner of his narrowed eyes. He repositioned the toothpick and grimaced. He crossed his arms, dropped his head, but said nothing. Tapping one enormous bicep with his finger.

No matter what Donnie thought, he wasn't out to get Leo. Far from it.

What he wanted, more than anything, was a bit of fairness. Because it didn't seem fair that Leonardo started half the fights with him over stupid shit but he ended up in the Hashi twice as long usually than the kiss-up. It wasn't fair that Leo was put in charge of the rest of them as if they were in some stupid militia outfit and not just a family. Like they were supposed ta be. Besides that, he didn't need a babysitter. He didn't need a leader.

He fuckin' needed a brother.

He blinked and shifted where he stood; surprised at where that train of thought had lead. He shoved it away. Replaced the sentimental crap with anger. 'Cuz that's what he was. He was pissed.

Leo could've been hurt. Or worse. And now he finds out that the object of his obsession is some broad in the Foot. He blew out a frustrated breath. The guy was losing his grip.

And on top of that juicy little horrifying fact was that Leo had snuck outta the lair, right after he'd just blown up about him cutting out to meet April the other night. It just tarred his shell. Who the hell did he think he was - actin' all high and mighty only to turn around and do the exact same thing?

No, Leo needed his comeuppance. It was time Leo owned up to the fact that he wasn't perfect. That he wasn't above the rules of the house. No matter how high a pedestal everyone wanted to put him on.

The awkward silence filled the space between them.

Finally, Donatello reached out in a placating gesture towards Splinter. "Master, Leonardo is-is unconscious. He's fine! Really. And there's really no need to get -"

"Of this I am aware," Splinter said. He patted Leonardo's cheek and then gave it a hardy slap. Leo remained unresponsive.

Donnie winced. Raphael hid his smirk behind one loose fist as he cleared his throat.

"I wish to know how he came about this state." Any fear evident in his voice had now been replaced by an authoritative tone. One that allowed no foolishness.

Raph uncovered his mouth and shook his head; brows raised, a grin still fighting to break out over his mouth. He blew out a helpless breath and with a quick glimpse at Donatello, he announced, "Leo went out." He removed the toothpick, raised his arms out and shrugged as if to say, what can you do? The grin broke loose and he coughed.

Splinter studied him with a blank expression. Unmoving. Only the tiniest rattle of the tip of his tail gave any indication of the emotions seething beneath the surface.

The brothers were not fooled. Splinter was his most furious when appearing the calmest.

Raph coughed out another chortle. "It's true. He went up top. Didn't let any of us know, either." He waggled his fingers in the air, "Slipped right out without a warning or nothin' to nobody."

Donatello bristled at the obvious glee Raphael was experiencing at this situation. If he wasn't under Splinter's scrutiny, he'd have clocked his brother upside the head with his bo. His private little vendetta with their oldest brother had no place in this. He was genuinely concerned about what Leonardo had gotten himself involved in.

Raphael was too caught up in the petty feud to realize that Leonardo was not acting at all like his usual self. He was putting himself in danger. And he was infatuated enough to continually seek out this woman, this Foot Clan member; for Donatello was certain this hadn't been the first time. It was troubling to say the least.

Going out. Alone. Directly disobeying their father. Meeting privately with a human. A female officer in the Foot Clan. Doing god knows what with her, Donatello couldn't guess. He barely got his mind wrapped around the fact of April seeing Raph in a romantic sense. But then the worst of it: Leo getting caught off guard. Nearly captured.

Donatello's head reeled with the implications. He paled to think what would have befallen his brother had he not had the sense to track Leo's location soon after he discovered his absence in the lair.

Splinter gripped his cane. He slammed it once into the floor and squared his shoulders. "I see. But that does not explain his current condition."

"Erm, uh," Donatello stammered before Raphael could say anything else. Before he could make things possibly worse.

His usually impressive cognitive capabilities were failing him when he most needed them. But he was never good at lying. It only complicated everything. Honesty was his comfort zone. He could be blunter than Raphael at times, given the circumstances and the topic. Lying convoluted problems, making everything more difficult than needed. The simplest solution was often the best. Direct truth.

Splinter's whiskers trembled as he sniffed the air. As if he could sense the deception forming in the air around them. His ears flattened slightly before pricking up again. Full attention. His gaze strayed from Raphael and trained on Donatello. No in hurry, he moved around the couch to stand before the two brothers.

"Th-There is no need to get upset, erm . . ." Don rubbed the back of his head and shuffled his feet, but stood his ground.

"Donatello, I wish for you to tell me what happened. Start at the beginning."

"Sensei, lemme tell it," Raph started and immediately snapped his mouth shut from the look Splinter gave him. He ducked his head and kept his eyes wandering everywhere but at his father. And still the wavering grin remained.

Donatello, looking more miserable by the second, stammered softly, "Well, Sensei. The th-thing is, uh, um, if you look at it from the right perspective, you'll realize that, uh, given the nature of the situation, I think what w-would be best –"

"Donatello," Splinter warned.

He gulped. "I-I don't know. I responded to a call from Leonardo and we found him this way in an alley not far from the lair. That's it. That's all I know."

Raphael started at the blatant lie. He twisted, boasting a scandalized expression, mouth agape, and stared at his brother.

"It c-could have been any number of circumstances which brought this upon Leonardo. I surmise that there must have b-been a scuffle?" He looked to Raphael for help but his hope shriveled at Raphael's amused and encouraging expression painted on his smug face. He should have known better. He screwed up his face into a sour expression.

Raphael gave a half-shrug, "Oh, do go on, Donnie. Tell Splinter how it went down. You know more than I do." His grin spread and it was savage.

Donatello straightened up. He cleared his throat. "Very well." He turned back to Splinter. "This is, uh, what I recall. It was approximately twelve minutes after four wh-when I received the communication. I remember because I was in the middle of a rather delicate operation . . . Sensei?"

Splinter closed his eyes. He ran his fingers through the thin beard dangling from his chin with an agitated movement. He lowered his head and just as Donatello started to babble on, he pointed sharply to the room next to the dojo; designated as the Hashi. The dreaded destination where punishments and discipline took place over extended, grueling hours.

"Donatello," he growled, making him jump, and just as Raphael crossed his arms with a triumphant look, " _Raphael_ ," he dropped his jaw along with his arms, "to the HASHI! NOW!"

Michelangelo sidestepped his brothers as they hurried past him. Raphael shoving and slapping Donatello upside the head, grumbling all the while. Donatello fending off the attack weakly and muttering in his defense. Both swearing under their breath at one another. Calling each other insulting names.

"What did you two trouble makers get into this time?" Mikey chastised with a chuckle and pointedly ignored the rude hand gesture that Raphael gave him. "Hot head," Mikey mumbled. He shifted the bowl of popcorn in his arms and headed to the couch where he stopped.

"Whoa," he said as he caught sight of his brother, "what's with the nap time for Leo?" He reached down and tried to knock his brother's large feet from the couch. "C'mon, dude, make some room. Baywatch is about to start. I'm gonna miss the opening."

Leo moaned softly, puffing a breath from between his lips, but did nothing more. Mikey huffed and shuffled between the coffee table propped by empty pizza boxes and moved to sit down squarely on Leonardo's stomach.

Splinter made a soft sound and he froze mid-way between being seated and standing. "Something wrong, Master Splinter?"

Splinter huffed. His eyes sparked. "Michelangelo," he said.

Mikey nodded, now standing straight, munching on a hand-full of popcorn steadily pouring from his open fist into his mouth, cheeks full. Between crunching he asked, voice muffled around the buttery kernels, "Yeah, Sensei?"

"Get me the herbal bag next to my meditation candle."

"Erm," he swallowed and wrinkled his snout, "the little stinky one or the big one with the pretty needlework on the side?"

"Stinky."

Mikey shrugged, "Okay."

He twisted and placed the large bowl of popcorn on top of his brother's forehead; cradling it on either side with his palms before releasing it with a pleased, mischievous grin. "Alright, buddy, now you just don't move until I come back," he sniggered. Once it was carefully balanced, Mikey skipped and turned with a laugh towards his father's room. He spun around, snapped his fingers and walking backwards while pointing at Splinter said, "One bag of the good stuff, coming right up!"

Splinter nodded patiently at his youngest son's buoyancy. He moved across the room to stand before his unconscious teen once more. He removed the bowl from Leo's head and placed it aside. He stared at his son's restive face and wondered.

"Of all my sons," he murmured, "what could have you disobeying me, Leonardo? What were you doing above ground, alone? And who did this to you?" He glanced towards the Hashi. His tail flopped from one side to the other. "And why is Donatello lying to me?"

A worm of worry burrowed through his thoughts. There had been a few instances of late whereas Leonardo had to explain his obvious absence in the lair. Each time he'd given his explanation, there were small deceits.

Splinter was not blind. His son was no good at lying.

He'd brushed it off, considered it nothing to be concerned about – he was a teenager, after all. And now that he'd gotten a taste of the outside world, it was only natural for his boy to wish to explore a bit more. As their leader, Leonardo could use the experiences that he gleaned from these explorations. As Splinter was sure that Leonardo was doing it in the spirit of educating himself to better lead his brothers.

If it had been Michelangelo or Raphael, then that would be different. Those two . . . He shook his head. They needed someone with familiarity of the outside world to guide them when he was no longer around. Especially the two youngest.

And Splinter was secure in assuming that Leonardo, of all his sons, would take the utmost care in remaining unseen, hidden, safe. He would not take any foolish chances. His level-headed son would never be so careless.

And yet.

The worry that there was something he was missing dogged him. Like a flickering light in a vast cavern, he could not quite see what was being illuminated. His doubt cast only a dim light upon suspicions that he could not (or rather did not want to) examine just yet.

Not without speaking to his son first. He had earned the benefit of the doubt. Surely, there was a reasonable explanation to this. He would not jump to conclusions.

He trusted his son.

# # #

Before hearing his voice, before seeing him, she knew he was there. A viper coiled in the shadows of her living room.

But what had he seen? What did he know? Perhaps there was still a chance for evasion.

The swords slipped silently from her fist as she fell into a crouch, feigning adjusting the strap of her sandal as she shoved them behind the leather chair nearest to the door. She straightened and turned towards the general location of the sound of his voice. She could only see the sparse outline of his hooded form seated in a chair at the far side of the room, near the fireplace.

She bowed deeply, "Father. I was not expecting you. Otherwise, I would have . . ." She trailed off as another shadow loomed in the arched opening that divided her dining room from the living room.

He was not alone.

"Karai, my daughter," his voice rasped and rang tinny. Metal scraping across stone.

There was vague movement and Karai moved to stand closer.

"Keep your distance," the Shredder ordered harshly.

She froze. "F-Father, what is this about? Who is this?" Her eyes flicked from her father, still ensconced by shadows to the silhouette in the doorway.

The man hidden in shadow strode forward. A soft grinding sound came as a lighter was lit. A clean-shaven face bent down at an angle to light the thin cigarette dangling from his lips. Eyes, black and glittering, were trained on her. They danced with a detached amusement. Sharp cheek bones stood out on the ghostly pale face. Shadows danced across a wide forehead topped with thick black hair, combed back neatly.

The flame went out with a click and he said, "Forgive the cloak and dagger, Ms. Oroku. But there is a need for darkness right now." His voice was smooth, masculine and featureless. Nearly bland, unassuming.

Her fury banished the fear. "Who are you? How dare you come here to my home, uninvited."

His chuckling response was hollow and empty, like the eyes that peered at her from above the yellowed flame a moment ago.

"But I was invited. Your father –"

"Enough!" She twisted and gripped the light switch on the wall. She snapped it on and spun on her heel. She gasped. Her eyes widened.

It wasn't so much what she saw, but what she could not see.

The cloak covered most of his body and the trident-topped helmet covered his head. The shining face plate hid his face. But something writhed beneath the silken material of the cloak where the rest of his body should have been. Something large and unnatural. Distorting the normal angles of his body. Making it all wrong, somehow. Rippling and churning like a mass of living creatures restlessly jostling for comfort.

From his shoulders several spikes gleamed and seemed to come from beneath the covering, jutting up through the fabric, as if he'd carelessly thrown the cloak over his shoulders and speared the fabric, cutting clear through. Where his legs emerged from the bottom of the cloak, they were coated in a gray metallic armor of some sort. Spikes of varying length and thickness erupted over the surface, down to the boots which ended in an up-turned toe, sharpened like yet another weapon.

She felt her knees grow weak as she stepped towards him. Her mouth agape in horror as she tried to make out his eyes from beneath the helmet. She could only see the gleam of the twin black pools, observing her from a distance too far and too cold to comprehend. Too alien.

Her knees buckled and she collapsed to the floor. Upon closer inspection, the armor covering his legs appeared scaled. The sheen of living flesh, reptilian, confirmed her horror.

Her voice came in a whispering slip of breath, "Father, but what has happened to you?"

The lights went off. The room descended into darkness once again. Unable to help it, she gasped. She pressed her hand to her mouth, feeling as though she were going to scream. This was a nightmare.

"I said there was a need for darkness, Ms. Oroku."

The man's voice came from just behind her. She heard the shuffle of his expensive suit as he moved closer. The sharp scent of cologne wafted over her as he crouched next to her. Very close. Intrusive.

"The light irritates his eyes, you see." His breath smelled of peppermint and smoke, beneath that, however, was an aged scent of decay. Leaves left to rot beneath a tomb. "The transformation is still evolving."

Irrational rage came over her then. She spun and struck with the heel of her hand. Meaning to drive the cartilage of his nose into his skull. Before making contact, he caught and gripped her wrist, turn it over and jabbed her inner elbow.

She buckled forward in pain, but made no sound. The cigarette flared, alighting the devil's face in pale crimson. He grinned around the cancer stick.

"Good. Quick. You're everything I've been told."

Karai ground her teeth and asked, "Who are you?" She grasped his arm with her free hand and dug her nails into his flesh.

He did not so much as blink. His dark eyes glittered, reflecting the red of the cigarette's glow.

"I've been sought out and hired by your father. For my resources. My expertise. But I'd like you to consider me a friend," he said in a conversational tone, still gripping her wrist and turning it slightly as he spoke, grinding her bones beneath his steely fingers.

"An ally against the alien menace."

She stared at him. Lost, furious and shaken.

"Don't look so confused, my dear. You are quite acquainted with the creatures in question. Closely acquainted." He chuckled again and it echoed a depth of cruelty she couldn't comprehend.

Dread filled her. Her blood, furious and boiling over with rage, instantly cooled as ice seemed to race through her veins.  _They know. They saw._

"With one of them, at least." He released her wrist and she collapsed back, rubbing it and glaring at him despite her terror. "That was quite an interesting little dance routine the two of you had on the roof." He sucked on the cigarette until the light blinded her and she dropped her gaze to the floor.

Her mind raced. There was no way out of this. They knew. She was caught. The game was at an end. Her stomach sank. What would happen now? Death. Surely.

Behind her, what was once her father stood. She shuffled on one thigh, turning to see him rise. Tall, much taller than he'd been before. His head nearly brushed the ceiling of her apartment. The sound of many things shuffling and sliding, metallic, slippery, inhuman, reached her and cut through the fear.

And she knew then, suddenly with awful clarity, what this was all about. The mutation of her father. Mutagen, they called it, didn't they? The substance in those canisters. The reason the mutant turtles had been captured by Sacks. She remembered what he'd said. The strange substance that ran within their blood. It was to blame for this.

It had to be the reason her father survived the accident that she'd only heard about, discounting much of the details as nothing more than exaggerated rumor and speculation. The Foot Clan was not a dependable source of rational information. And she'd no reason to believe any of it. When she'd seen him in the hospital during her recovery, he appeared fine. Perhaps a little pale, a bit worn out, but fine.

But now, she saw the truth. Something unnatural had happened to her father. It had saved his life, but at what cost? What was under the cloak?

The mysterious vile man stood up. Her attention snapped to him. "What has happened to my fa-father?"

"Something rather extraordinary. You'll soon see for yourself."

"Come along, daughter," Shredder rasped. "We have plans to make." He hesitated. "You have done well in securing for us the opportunity we so desperately needed -"

His voice choked off. The rippling beneath the cloak intensified. There came the sounds of bones popping, crackling tendons and the shrill zipping trill of flesh being torn. He stumbled forward with a groan and the man caught him. Steadying him. The rasping breath rolled from him in fits and starts, erupting into a wretched wet gagging noise.

Frozen in place with terror, Karai stared, wide-eyed at the contorting back of her father as he regained something like composure and straightened. She swallowed. Her face darted to the man in the suit as he stepped aside, giving her father room.

She struggled, but at last found her voice, "Can you help him? Is there . . . Can you . . . Cure him?"

The two men paused, exchanged a glance and then the man chuckled.

He sucked on the cigarette once more. His face glowed demonically. Above his head, a gray halo of circling smoke twirled in a lazy arc. He took the stub from his lips, put it out against the back of his hand. It hissed and crackled as if it were not human flesh that had extinguished it, but something drier and older. Something hardened from time.

"Now why would I want to stop evolution?"

# # #


	9. Confessions & Introductions

**Chapter 9 - Confessions & Introductions**

Splinter pulled the rounded flask from the bag, heavy in his hand despite the small size, top corked. He yanked the stopper out with a slight pop and waved the opening just under his son's snout. Slowly from side to side.

Leo's nose wrinkled. With a sharp inhale, he choked, then frowned and jerked, eyes fluttering open, rolling around, dazed.

Splinter immediately removed the flask, recorked the top and returned it to the small bag at his side on the floor.

Mikey, who'd observed the entire spectacle from his position behind the couch, leaned over with a wide grin. "Worked like a charm."

Splinter eyed him then turned to Leo who was struggling to sit up, arms flopping and fingers groping as if he had little or no control over them. Splinter took his son's arms and assisted him. Pulled him to sit upright, but patted him gently back against the back of the couch. "Easy, my son. Do not move too much, too quickly."

"What h-happened?" Leo asked and rubbed loosely at his brow, pressing his finger and thumb hard into his temples. He groaned. "My head."

"I was hoping you would have an explanation."

He peered at his father from under his hand. His arm dropped heavily to his lap. Leo studied his hands, eyes locked on the old scarring across his knuckles. He said nothing.

"Do you not remember? You were found outside the safety of the lair. Your brothers brought you home in an unconscious state."

Leo's throat worked and his face paled slightly.

"Leonardo?"

The teen continued to stare at his lap.

"Can you not speak? Tell me what happened."

"I see."

Splinter's tail twitched. His gaze bounced from his son's face to his eyes which remained fixed on his lap. The ends of Splinter's mouth drooped as he pressed his lips tightly together. He sat back on his heels, then rose up to stand in front of his petulant son. He clasped his hands, waiting patiently. Staring at the top of his son's slightly bowed head.

The sound of Michelangelo munching on popcorn interrupted the tense silence. The couch buckled as he dropped into it next to Leonardo.

Splinter shot him a scorching look that he nearly missed, having sat forward to reach for the remote. He froze.

"Uh," he said, eyes rolling from Leo still sitting in pouting silence to his father's stern look, "oh, right." He sighed and got up, retreating towards his room with the bowl of popcorn.

Splinter turned back to his eldest boy. He cocked his head, opened his mouth, and then reconsidered. He began again, speaking slowly, "I am greatly relieved to see that you are unhurt."

There was a slight shift from Leonardo.

"I worry, now that you and your brothers have been exposed to the outside world. So many dangers. Despite my best efforts to train and prepare you," he sighed and leaned back to rest his bottom on the coffee table, "there is so much I have not had the forethought to plan for. Should anything happen to you or your brothers, I would never forgive myself. For the blame would rest solely upon my shoulders."

Leo blinked and finally looked up at his master. Guilt written clearly on his face.

"My failings as a sensei," Splinter continued with a sad shake of his head, "as a father."

"No," Leo said, voice slow and heavy from the drugs still percolating through his system. He tipped forward.

Splinter raised a hand. "The student is a reflection of the master."

Leonardo considered that, eyes askance, searching and troubled.

"If the student is deceitful . . ."

Leonardo's widened gaze shot back to Splinter.

". . . if the student strays from what he is taught," Splinter ducked his head, "if the student cannot focus or remain honorable, if he is untrustworthy, it is the master's errors which have allowed these flaws to deepen, to marr his teachings, to bring dishonor –"

"No, Sensei," Leonardo said, slurring, and reached out, but Splinter had stood up and turned his back, walking out to the center of the room, towards his chamber. He moved to stand, but his legs, still weakened from the dart, gave out and he slumped back onto the cushion. His hands kneaded the armrest.

Over his shoulder, Splinter said, "You, as eldest, reflect my most dedicated instruction. You, of all your brothers, reflect  _me_."

"Father," Leo said desperately, fingers digging into the material of the sofa. Unable to stand the thickening disappointment in his master's tone, he confessed, "I went out. I did. I'm sorry. I know you've told us not to, but-but," he struggled. He dropped his head. "I had to."

"For what reason had you ignoring my explicit rule to not leave the lair? What was it that drove you to ignore this simple, basic rule –  _again_?"

Leonardo started.

Splinter's amber eyes flashed. "I know this isn't the first time, my son." He rubbed a hand over his face and chuckled, but it was without warmth. "My boy, I have raised you from infancy. You fool no one with your attempts at slyness."

Splinter shifted, any mirth long gone on his expression. "Now, please explain what drove you from the security of our home and placed you squarely in harm's way. And not only you, but your brothers who were forced to retrieve you like a lost pup."

Leonardo's face mottled. He looked as though he were about to be sick. "I-," he choked on the word, shook his head. He gathered himself, trying again. The result was a strangled gasp:  _"I can't."_

Splinter nodded and shrugged with a languid motion. Said simply, "You are not a child."

Leonardo froze, not sure what his master was getting at, thrown off by Splinter's insouciant reaction to his inability and refusal to answer.

"And so, you must make your own decisions. The cross-roads are where the most crucial tests of character begin. And what you do from there," he eyed his son, his tone turned sharper, "what you choose to  _disregard_ , despite all I've tried to instill within you, is for you alone to decide."

Leo's voice was quiet. "Hai, Sensei."

"Even if it dishonors everything I've taught you. Even if it dishonors me."

At this, Leo stood up. He wobbled on sluggish legs, tipped, fumbling, but used the side of the couch to support himself. He brought his fist to his palm and attempted a clumsy bow, nearly toppling over. "Never," he choked. "Never would I purposefully dishonor you."

Splinter's voice, usually quiet, low, unassuming and gentle, boomed through the expanse, filling it with his frustration as it did only when the old rat was at the very limit of his patience.

_"Then answer me!"_

Leonardo, startled by his father's ferocity, blurted, "There's a woman."

_#_

Raphael, standing just inside the Hashi's doorway, braced on his taller brother's shell, balancing most of his weight on sweating hands, felt his palms slide and he caught himself just before he tumbled to one side. He righted himself and tried to appear calm as Donatello wheeled around, a look of shock on his face.

 _"Did you hear that?"_  Donatello's screeched in a strained whisper.

Raph nodded. "Yep."

"What should we do?"

There was an eruption of noise which morphed into more shouting from the other room. Both brothers winced at the sound of a slap. They stared at each other for half a second before scrambling to witness the rare sight of their eldest brother being disciplined, a look of worried dismay and dark glee on either's face.

They turned in unison back towards the door, opened only a crack, just as it burst inwards. They toppled backwards in a heap.

Mikey slammed the door behind him and braced his arms out to either side, fingers splayed.

"Oh my god!"

He jumped at the muffled sound of more yelling and the distinct yet familiar sound of a tail whipping a shell. He spun and re-opened the door, only to spin back around to face his older brothers. He pointed, hand close to his chest and said hoarsely, "Leo's getting it!"

Raph shoved Donatello off him and sat up, cross-legged. "No shit."

Donatello looked grim, but resigned. "He confessed," he said, looking significantly between his brothers, "but how much?"

Mikey dropped to a crouch in front of them both, eyes wide, mouth pursed in a knowing 'o', as he nodded. "Yeah, dude. How much, indeed."

Raph knocked him against the side of his head, making him flop onto his thigh.

"Ow!"

"Shut the hell up. You don't even know what we're talkin' about."

Rubbing his temple, he said, exasperatedly, "Well, it isn't my fault I'm always left outta the loop. What's going on? Someone tell me something. I'm beggin' ya!"

Raph glared at him. He turned to Donnie.

"C'mon. Don't leave me in the dark. I hate the dark. You know how much I hate the dark."

Raph snorted.

Mikey ignored him, continuing to throw his biggest puppy-eyes in Donatello's direction.

"In a word," Donatello said, cryptically, "Karai."

Mikey narrowed his eyes, he leaned his chin on his thumb and forefinger, rubbing gently. He said slowly, as if it was completely clear now, "Yeah."

Raph shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"What's a Karai?"

#

The expansive lab lay in shadowed layers. The gleam of flasks and test tubes illuminated only by the barest glow from incandescent bulbs within lanterns placed in various locations across the lengthy tables. Some of them bubbled, percolating softly in the quiet, heated by the tiny blue flames beneath; others shone with a light which came from the viscous, greenish ooze contained within. Some contained exotic specimens whose features were contorted and twisted within the frosted glass, making it impossible to tell just what the fleshy, pink globs might have been. A boxy machine whirred and another clicked and beeped as it went on with its secretive processes.

Their footsteps snapped across the linoleum with an eerie reverberation. Karai had been in labs like this before. It was nothing new. But something about this place made her skin prickle and crawl with unease.

There was a scent beneath the disinfectant burn, like something moldering under a cabinet, over-looked and forgotten. Neglected and abandoned. Left to decay. Her stomach turned when it noticed the odor: she tried breathing through her gritted teeth, but it did little to negate the effect.

"This way."

She moved through the labyrinth-like maze of examining tables, straight through the center aisle, trying to steady her nervous heart, keeping her face a mask of indifference. She followed the mysterious man who strode purposefully through the room without so much as a side-long glance at the strange contents littering each table. As if he were already intimately familiar with every single item. As if he owned them. Relished them.

"I hope you'll forgive the mess. We haven't had a . . . visitor in some time. Not that we'd encourage outsider interest." His bland tone suggested boredom. "We like to keep our operations secretive."

He slowed, his fingers trailing lightly past glinting instruments at one, last table, this one shorter than the others, set before double steel doors at the far side of the room. He hesitated, fingers fluttering in the air for a moment, as if trying to decide. He reached out, settling on one instrument in particular.

He picked up the scalpel, examined it. He flicked a reptilian smile at her over his shoulder. His dead eyes flat. "As I'm sure someone in your particular profession can understand."

Karai held his gaze for as long as possible before she could no longer tolerate it. Her eyes swept to one side, landing on something only slightly more disturbing than the man's grin: a table with restraints attached. Her mouth went dry. She thought of the containment cells back in Sacks' laboratory. The lab built for research and study.

But here there was nothing but the table, flanked by rolling carts covered in bizarre surgical instruments, and the cruel restraints – all laid out like . . . She swallowed.

Like a torture chamber.

Or a morgue.

Movement snapped her attention back to the man.

He leaned against the edge of the table, crossing his arms, scalpel in hand. His grin remained stretched across the plain of his face, contorting it.

She strained to compose herself and asked, "Where is my father?"

"He's here. Resting. Comfortably, I might add."

For the first time since coming to this unnerving facility, Karai felt herself genuinely relax. Perhaps it was merely her involuntary revulsion of this man which kept her from seeing this as an opportunity. To heal her father's affliction and in the process, finally win his respect.

He went on, "Ah, as much as we possibly can provide - considering his current condition. Since he contacted us for assistance and contracted my organization to handle this delicate situation, we are doing everything in our power to do so. Everything. But sadly, despite what you see here, our resources are limited, as is our knowledge of what we're dealing with. In order to alleviate any suffering he is enduring, to understand and facilitate the evolution he is experiencing, we require additional necessities."

"Necessities?" she whispered uncomprehendingly.

"Indeed. Ergo, your providential involvement."

Suddenly, his right hand shot out.

Karai jumped. Her fists came up.

The man's brows raised, he considered his out-stretched hand and looked back at her. Still he grinned. "I'm sorry. Did I startle you?"

Karai flushed. She willed herself to appear relaxed. She smoothed the front of her blouse and fought against the urge to cross her arms defensively, keeping her face as passive as she could manage. "It has been a trying night."

"I'm sure you're exhausted after that lengthy encounter with the specimen on the roof."

She blanched, but remained rigid, chin jutting in defiance.

He extended his hand further, cocking a brow.

Reluctantly, slowly, she took his icy hand. It was smooth as parchment, but the bones and tendons beneath the inhuman flesh suggested frightening strength.

They shook.

"Allow me to properly introduce myself, Ms. Oroku," he said, gripping her hand tighter as she moved to release him. "My name is Bishop."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Forgive the long absence in updating this and some of my other pieces - I have not only been busy with Mom stuff, RL stuff and working on other original projects, but I also had to contend with some rather insidious block when it came to writing FF for some reason. I just am having trouble getting around it. I think I'm worrying too much and the fun is being sucked out, so producing chapters has been kinda hard...
> 
> Hopefully, getting this chapter written will get me on a more productive path.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this story and my other work! Your support is always greatly appreciated (and goes a long way to helping me get over this sort of junk!)


	10. Choices

"Scars fade with time. And the ones that never go away, well, they build character, maturity, caution." -Erin McCarthy, The Pregnancy Test

* * *

 

Raph stood in the doorway to the dojo, heavy arms crossed, smug grin dissolving with each passing minute as he watched his brother on his knees, scrubbing the dojo's mats like some forlorn Cinderella. It was both hilarious and pathetic to see their supposed leader in such a position. The longer he stood there the less funny it seemed.

_He had it comin'._

Raph scratched at his chin, considering.

Donatello said he was in the middle of a love affair.  _Leo_. He snorted quietly. He wouldn't've believed it if he hadn't been the one to drag Leo's darted ass home from that alley himself. The alley located within spitting distance of that Foot lady's apartment as Donatello had pointed out.

And that was the other thing that just made no sense. No sense at all.

Of all the women populating New York City, why her? She was Foot. The nutjobs that had terrorized the city, captured them, nearly killed them and then attempted to poison everyone. Well, maybe most of that had been the Shredder and Sacks, but still. She was aligned with them, possibly a commander or mistress or whatever Donnie had said.

That Donatello suggested the woman was interested in Leonardo romantically was beyond ridiculous. No one would fall for such a lame-o. No way. Leo was just mistaking a seductive trap for something real like the dumbass he was.

He had to straighten things out, which included beating sense into his brother if reasonable dialogue didn't help. And since he wasn't exactly fond of talking, also, knowing Leo's shitty attitude whenever they did talk about anything close to serious, it would come to the beating sooner than later.

_Fine by me._

He rubbed one scarred fist and moved to take a step. The cell buzzed at his hip, halting him. He glanced down to see April's number appear with a text message.

_You ready for tonight?_

He felt his blood heat. Hell yeah, he was ready.

He texted back:  _Yeah. Can't wait._

They were going to spend the night watching all the original Mad Max films, and then, after . . . well, April had said that she'd taken the day off tomorrow and there was no reason he couldn't spend the night.

His cheeks heated.

They'd been seeing each other for a while, taking things slow, a snail's pace, really. Neither wanted to rush into something that they might regret. Well, he certainly wouldn't regret anything with April, but despite her reassurances, he wasn't exactly confident that feeling went both ways. But lately, she'd been particularly hands-on, kissing him whenever she had the chance, running her hands over his shell, shoulders and thighs whenever they were close.

Raphael shivered.

Things were definitely advancing to the next level. And tonight . . .

He looked again at Leonardo, hunched over at the far end of the room, scrubbing in concentric circles, the last corner of the room to finish. The weapons lining the walls had been oiled, polished and sharpened. The mats had all been cleaned. It was the last room he had to finish after the living area, kitchen and bathroom, a full day of chores completed after one spent entirely in the Hashi.

_Shit._

Suddenly, Raphael felt the familiar and unwelcome hyper-awareness of the confinement of the lair, the rooms too small, the ceiling too low; the restrictions placed upon him and his brothers by their over-protective father. His breath grew tight and struggled through his pinching chest. This had only started happening a few years ago, just before they'd started to sneak out, when the outside world started to seem less like a place of traps and danger and more like a way out. The only way out.

He didn't like thinking of their home in a negative way, but it just happened. What had once been a sanctuary, now seemed like a prison.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing slow, as April had shown him. He counted as he blew out his breath, slow, even. He could hear her voice in his mind, counting with him as she'd done before. Just thinking of her, snuggling next to him, softening the brunt of his anxiety with her gentle voice, eased the pressure back. Thinking of seeing her tonight melted the last of it away.

His breath released, chest opened. Air. Before he knew it, the panic attack was gone. Keeping her image in the corner of his mind, just in case it came on again, he glanced once more at Leonardo. A startling thought struck him.

_That's what this is Karai stuff is about._

He blinked at that, feeling himself soften towards his bossy, know-it-all, condescending, arrogant ass of a brother. He huffed.

_Never thought I'd have anything in common with Mr. Perfect. But here we are._

He straightened and made a soft grunt to announce his presence.

Leo ignored him. No doubt he'd sensed Raphael was standing there since he first came here to gloat, half an hour ago. With a roll of his eyes, Raph strode across the dojo to stand over his brother's shell.

_"What."_

Raphael immediately bristled at Leo's tone. Any feelings of pity or compassion, fleeting and weak as they were, dissolved.

He kicked the bucket over. "Ya missed a spot."

Leonardo sat back on his heels with a resigned sigh, grey water slushing around him. "Thanks."

Raphael braced himself for an attack, muscles coiling, a grim beginning of a grin starting to form. It never came. His brother righted the bucket and proceeded to mop the water Raph had spilt, never even glancing up at him. Either he was too exhausted to fight, or something was wrong with him.

"You sick?"

Leo shook his head slightly, more in an annoyed manner than in an actual answer, continuing to push the water around with the sopping rag.

Raphael crouched. "What is up with you?"

Leo said nothing, wouldn't spare him a glance.

Raph stuck his fingers into the water and flicked some at his brother. "I know all about Karai."

Leo froze. His face shot to Raph.

"Oh, now I get your attention."

Leo's eyes dropped. He tossed the rag into the bucket with a slap and climbed to stand. As he turned, Raphael jumped to his feet, grabbing him by the shoulder.

"Don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you. We're just getting started here."

Leo stopped. He shrugged out of his brother's grasp.

"Leave it alone."

"I don't think so."

Leonardo's shoulders bunched but he remained silent.

"Look," Raph shrugged. "I get it. Needin' ta get outta here. Get a little space. But goin' after a Foot broad is beyond nuts. It's downright stupid. What the hell are ya thinkin'?"

Leo sighed. "You done?"

Raphael glared, bristling. "No, I ain't done. But you're gonna be, got me? Starting now."

Leo shot a scowl over his shoulder, the blue of his eyes sparking in fury.

Raphael sneered, triumphant that he'd managed to press several of Leo's buttons at once. "Oh, big brother does not like to be told what to do. Well, tough. That's the last you're gonna see of that bitch."

Leo jumped as if stung. He spun around, crowding up to Raph who hadn't moved, standing his ground and curling his lip back in warning, exposing one fang.

"Don't," Leo articulated each word, voice low and dangerous, "call her that again."

"You know what, Fearless? I think that maybe Splinter would like to know more about her, eh?" Raph asked with a savage smile, catching Leo's flash of panic before he could smooth it away into a neutral look of mild disinterest. Leo relented, stepping back.

"Maybe he'd like to know she's not just some chick you rescued in a dark alley one night, but, uh, a soldier of the Foot clan. And not just any soldier, if Donnie's guess is right, some kinda commander. And I bet he'd like to know that you've been seeing her for a while now."

This time Leo could not hold back the look of dread that mottled his face. "How did you find out?" he asked, voice raw and choked.

Raph shrugged. "Don's a genius. Did you really think you could keep something like this from him? From us?"

Leonardo's shoulders slumped, all the fight gone.

"Tell me you're done. I wanna hear it. Promise me."

Leo looked sick.

"I ain't running out in the middle of the night again because Don's terrified that you've been ganked. Just 'cuz you're all hormonal doesn't mean you get to act like some love-struck idiot without any sense of self-preservation. I mean, c'mon, bro. Aside from the fact that you're a freak like the rest of us and have about zero chance with any woman, she's with the Foot Clan.  _And_  you were  _darted_ right after seeing her. You gotta realize somethin's not right with the situation. Think!" He tapped the side of his head.

Leo's eyes moved from the motion to meet his brother's gaze.

"Tell me you're done."

Leo stared at him. Before he could answer, Raph's phone rang.

Raph peered at the cell, then held up a finger. "Hold that thought." He answered, "Hey, April, what's up?"

Leo watched Raphael's face light up as he started to talk, trying not to listen to the conversation, but hearing the change in his brother's tone, the softening, the joy lacing every word. He'd been bewildered by the sudden romance between his brother and April. Astonished, and at first, angry. He wasn't sure why and hadn't wanted to examine that feeling too closely, for it resembled something he'd rarely felt in his life, if ever: jealousy.

"Well, yeah, that sounds great. See you in ten minutes." Raph, listening intently, face growing slightly pink, glanced up at Leo and wheeled around for a bit of privacy. His voice lowered. "Oh, heh, that so? Aw,  _aheh_. I'm . . . I'm lookin' forward to seeing you tonight, too." He cleared his throat and after a moment chuckled. "Oh really? Is that a challenge or a promise?"

Pressing his mouth together tightly, Leo turned away from Raphael, retreating from the flirtatious banter, the sound of his brother's laugh, so different when it involved April, so  _happy_. He made his way through the corridor which led to the laundry room, bits of Raphael's earlier tirade as well as his threats seemed to follow along, dogging and snipping at his heels.

Reaching the laundry room, he threw open the door and slammed the bucket into the utility sink, sending a wave of filthy water splashing up against the cracked bricks. He fell forward and gripped either side of the sink, knuckles whitening, breathing heavy, blinking hard, feeling the weight of his exhaustion from the past two days of little sleep and endless chores, not to mention the hours he'd spent in the Hashi after Splinter had disciplined him. And for what?

What had he done to earn his father's disappointment and abashment?

Raphael was doing the same thing, and yet Splinter was fine with the relationship. Supportive.

He gulped for air and swallowed back the sting of resentment. He ran a hand across his head and down the back of his neck, wincing at the tender spot where he'd been darted. He fingered it gently and dropped his arm.

Maybe not the exact same thing. But close enough.

Leo stared at the dripping bricks. The pipes above him rattled with a passing train somewhere overhead, people traveling wherever they wanted, going to places his brothers could only read about or see on television, having adventures or just meeting friends or lovers.

Raphael was wrong. With April, he'd found someone who not only accepted his appearance, but seemed to be attracted to him in spite of it. Leo heard it in the tone of voice she used with him particularly when she thought no one else was around or could hear them, saw it in the way she left her fingertips lingering on Raphael's arms, the way she looked at his brother, as if he were a mystery and a gift, one she was thoroughly interested in unwrapping.

How was that any different from the way Karai had looked at him the other night?

Just the memory of her made his heart ache with yearning. He ran both hands hard over his face, composing himself. April accepting Raphael didn't matter. How Karai might have maybe looked at him didn't matter. It was over. He couldn't see her again. It was impossible.

Someone had spotted him and tried to capture him. No doubt someone from the Foot clan.

The idea that it might have been Karai herself who set the ninja after him once he left her apartment tickled the edge of his reason. He gritted his teeth, remembering their sparring, the way her eyes measured him and his skill, the invitation to come back inside with her, the warmth of hope replacing the colder evaluation in her gaze, how she'd grown disappointed when he insisted he had to go.

"No," he said, voice thick and rough, more growl than words, "it wasn't her."

Thinking on the night, though most of his memory was blurry from the tranquilizer dart, a memory rose up, one he'd forgotten. He froze.

Her voice took shape in his mind: 'I am free two nights from now.'

Leonardo started. Two nights. That was tonight.

He spun around, leaning on the sink for support. Tonight. She'd be waiting for him. He felt the muscles of his legs tense and tremble as if wanting to bolt from the room at that very second, but he held back.

No. I shouldn't.

Slowly, he rose up and carefully exited the laundry room. As he entered the living room, he was greeted by the sight of April embracing and then kissing Raphael, languidly, deeply. He slipped back into the shadows along the wall, heading directly for the back emergency exit.

#

The walls shook, a tumbling reverberation that nearly knock Leonardo from his feet. He stumbled to one side, catching himself with one hand on the mossy bricks. Ears ringing, a sound broke through. The familiar pattern of gleeful chuckling followed by the characteristic snort meaning it could only be one person: Donatello. Straightening up, Leonardo marched through the tunnel in the general direction of the origin of the muffled blast.

As he turned a corner, another vibration started followed by a forceful gust, making his teeth chatter and shell bounce, nearly toppling him off his feet. An eruption of aluminum cans assaulted him. He covered his head and ducked, hissing as particles bit into his exposed flesh. Someone hollered in dismay.

"Oh, snap! Hold it, Donnie!"

The scattering cans clattered to the ground around his feet as he lowered his arms, scowling. He noticed shards of aluminum, in coils and strips, covered his shoulders. Brushing them off, wincing where they dislodged from his skin, he stormed down the length of the passageway where Michelangelo and Donatello were shifting their feet and doing a poor job of hiding what appeared to be an enormous gun behind their shells.

Leonardo looked from one brother to the other.

"Hey, Leo! Didn't expect to see you, heh," Mikey said with a nervous glance at Donatello who nodded rapidly and then shook his head. "Nice night for a stroll?"

"What is that?" Leo pointed behind them.

They both answered at once.

"Nothing," Donnie said. "It's awesome is what it is!" Mikey said, grinning widely.

Donatello rolled his eyes.

Mikey, still grinning, said, "What? It is." Mikey reached out and plucked a piece of embedded shrapnel from Leo's leather strap and flicked it away.

There was a beat of silence as all three stared at one another.

"Does Sensei know about this?"

Donatello looked guilty and shook his head, but then a thought occurred to him and he frowned. "Unlike some of us, I plan on exposing my secret work as soon as it's perfected to the entire family."

Leonardo narrowed his eyes.

"And, just what, may I ask," Donatello pressed, handing the enormous, bulky gun to Michelangelo who took it with a grunt, "are you doing out of the lair, Leonardo?"

Mikey's eyes widened slightly at his brother's tone directed at their leader. His gaze hopped between them as he hugged the sound-cannon awkwardly against his chest and stomach.

"None of your business."

His commanding tone shifted to incredulity, "You're going out again. To see her, aren't you?"

"Get home. Both of you."

Again, they answered together. "Okay," Mikey said. Donatello, firmly, "No."

The three fell into a tense silence. A stare down was happening between Leonardo and Donatello. Michelangelo held his breath, so much for a fun night out with his mad-scientist brother, blowing up things with futuristic sound-blasting guns.

Finally, to Mikey's surprise, Leo was the one who dropped his gaze. Quietly, he said, "I'm just getting some air."

Donatello looked at Mikey, "Go on. I'll catch up."

Mikey shook his head. "No way am I missing this. I always miss the good stuff."

Leo and Donatello both glared at him.

Mikey shrugged, hefting the gun. "All right, all right. Geez. Way to freeze a guy out."

"Charge the gun in the lab as I instructed," Donatello said as he started to leave. Mikey bobbed his head in acknowledgement. Donatello turned to Leo. "So, you wanted to take a walk? Let's walk."

Knowing his stubborn brother wasn't going to relent, Leo pushed past him and made his way down the tunnel to the nearest storm drain grate.

#

The night hadn't managed to shake off the humidity of the day, leaving the air hanging thick around them, an unwelcome woolen blanket thrown over sweating shoulders. Donatello eyed his brother as they stood leaning on the back of wooden scaffolding of an old billboard adorning an apartment destined to be demolished. As Leonardo finally sat down, Don followed his motion, sitting with his shell up against a perpendicular bracket.

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the distant rumble of traffic, the occasional burst of an ambulance or police cruiser's siren cutting through the night. Somewhere, a pair of cats yowled, fighting over territory or a potential mate.

"You're lucky," Donatello finally said, breaking the silence.

Leo glanced at him.

"I ran the tests and they came out clean. The drug they hit you with was simply meant to tranquilize you, nothing more than that. Probably wanted to incapacitate you in order to capture you without trouble."

Leo rested one arm across the top of his bent knee. Looking out over the misaligned rooftops, he said, "It wasn't her."

"No." Donatello shook his head and produced a tiny tool from his belt, twisting it between his fingers. He continued shaking his head until he looked up. "No," he repeated. "I'm not surprised you would think along those lines, considering your recent obsessive and delusional behavior. But consider this: even if you were somehow correct, that this Karai hadn't ordered you to be taken, that she's somehow innocent of the entire event, the answer is just as, if not more, disturbing, for it means that others involved in the Foot discovered your . . . interest in Karai."

Neither spoke for a moment.

"If you'd simply be logical," Donatello started. "She's an active member of a highly organized mercenary group. One that had assisted in our capture and near-death. One that had held this city hostage with terror. One that is a direct threat to our existence now that they are aware of that, exacerbated by your continued involvement–" He stopped mid-sentence at Leonardo's expression hardening. He knew that look well; Leo wasn't listening.

He twisted the little tool until it came apart in his fingers. He looked at the fragments in his palm. Closing his fingers over them, he sighed. "But what do I know, right?" He tossed the pieces out across the expanse of the roof in disgust.

The cats had stopped fighting and the night became still, the anticipation of the dream where the sleeper wanders the empty hollowness of an undiscovered astral plane. Seeking answers, or maybe just an escape, for a short time, before the morning brought back reality, with all its demands and mundane hurts, all the loneliness and exhaustion.

When Leo finally replied, his tone was resigned and weighted by a deep bitterness that was uncharacteristic of his usually rather optimistic brother. "This life . . ."

A soft frown puckered Donatello's brow. He spoke slowly at first, "Leo, we have much to be thankful for. Our mere existence is one that borders upon the miraculous."

He sat up, speaking more urgently, more passionately as he went on, reaching out with one hand, "The fact that the mutagen didn't simply dissolve us or-or disfigure our primitive forms, but rather accelerated our evolution equal to that of humans and enhance our intelligence, is beyond comprehensible."

Leo turned his head to face his brother, seeing the wide-eyed, near fanatical glow in his brother's face, the look he got when he was immersed in another of his spectacular inventions.

"This  _life_ ," Donatello insisted, "is a-a . . ." he glanced around, and met Leo's gaze once more, voice soft but firm, "a precious gift."

Leonardo gave him a broken nod, closing his eyes and feeling his throat tighten. "I'm sorry."

Donatello's hand shot out and gripped him by the shoulder. Their eyes met.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting more," he said. "Just be careful in your choices."

With that, Donatello patted him and together they rose up. He attempted and failed at stifling an enormous yawn, pushing up his glasses with the back of one hand. "The sound cannon just needs a few tweaks, then we can test it out on some real subjects. I was thinking of the junk yard on 43rd, behind the brick yard."

Leo's eyes were glazed, turned inward.

Donatello rubbed his hands together. "If you liked what it did with those cans wait 'til you see it dismantle a pick-up. Scrap metal city!"

His exclamation woke Leo from his daze. He smiled, but it was tight, forced. "Go home. Get some sleep."

Donatello stretched and nodded, then stiffened. He looked at Leonardo with a sidelong stare. "Coming?"

"I'll be home soon."

"Leo," Donatello moaned, shoulders slumping.

Leonardo jumped down from the back of the billboard. He turned his head and not looking at Donatello, said, "I'll be careful."


End file.
